Biases

The distasteful sustain
Falsified numerologies
That endlessly flirt.

With pestles and mortar,
Favored remedies are
Replaced by odious
Repugnances of tenuously
Replicated tries; unmenacingly
Crushing shriveled up petalages
Garnered by unadorned windowsills,
With withered strips of dates
Within beveled borders along
Fluted reliefs; wonders of
Precisions inside forgotten memories.

Distorted ambiguities of misdirected
Communications.


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The Missing Piece

An avid carnelian turtle initially stonily searched
Questionable interdimensional whorls for a cooler space.
Previously artistically crafted, rectangular wings
Fulfilled its suggestive longing to stay in that place.
And when it met its destination -or thought it did-
It then witnessed its piteous fate of lost grace.

In layered dimensions it learned its incapabilities
By examining fecal trails that gauged morphing lands.
Its blustering amateurish attempts of outside adventures,
Tanking, as it blubbered from sour tokens of forgotten hours.

Broken Promises

Miniscule orbs illuminated in subtle glows
Float towards cloudless cerulean skies
As plum blossom petals loftily distract her zigzagging eyes
In absorbing trances of mesmerizing perspectival glances.

Steadily, she places her hands on the hilt,
Bracing her legs to make the next leap
In the labyrinthine curves of tilted mounds
Where mice would swerve and sulk past her feet.

She pauses, images of misstepped darkness
Blinds in olive, sorrowfully fading inside
Abysmal medicinal remedies of impossibilities
Successionally staring in rotations, blankly.

It Clicks


 

Can you explain
The scales that consecutively run
To those that cannot sense it.

Our vision that pales;
His, hers, and mine,
In the faces of sophists.

Then dewy inklings
Of feathered proofs lapse
By subsequent engineering
In uncounted droplets
On tympanic shields
From deciphers felt.

Breathless moments buried;
Dissonant reverberations
Diminishing;
Things I
Use to
Savor.

Crappy Titles

Crappy first liners
Pile in black crinkly bags
In how many shitty ways
Could it be dressed in rags;
The things I wanted to say,
That there was nothing finer
Then the things you’d written
That I had been smitten
The second time you caught my attention,
Though I did my best to deny it
There was no denying
The betrayal of my own actions.
I had decided towards the noncommittal
So when you first shown
In fluorescent lighting
You demolished, while you belittled
My determination to lead a life
Without romantic turbulence.
Initially I pretended
I had not been watching.
But I ended up chasing
After your prancing silhouette
Desperately trying to get a handle
On the soul you had hidden
Inside porcelain fragments.
And now that you have left
I no longer possess a smidge
Of the thrill I used to be unable
To contain while uncovering
Your flawlessly flawed existence.

Would you give
Me the pleasure
Of being able
To witness you again.