Yore

Xyloid skinned with a crown of leaves, a hypochondriac
Tinkers, huffing on a countryside, with a cracked sink,
Repeating riveting silvered words while musing, to reap,
Hoarsely sowing soils with a miniature hoe so that
Quarantined red lunarias would get sent to a suq,
Demonizing unregistered impossibilities for sex,
Kitted together for a hefty sum for another iffy tranq
When baseless claims from the self-proclaimed sang

“Yassss, clouds
Passed amid
These floors.”

Advertisements

Afraid

Hyper-ventilations in hyper-contextualized
Cyber spaces escaping non-realities built
Without abutments, abut around Romanesque
Forms, where esquires, at their own behest,
Did form wordless words, feasting on escargot
Behind a crystallized desk at a kind of exquisite bureau,
Shaking (it’s in a non-risqué sense),
When the righteously beautimous withdrew
From their vision, fearfully they
Pressed away at those transfigured
Buttons, as though hopeful it would do
Something, as they had, perhaps, always
Most often been.

Never Before

Presuppositions of what could have been
Swapped to the supposedly supposed to be
Supposing our “purposefully denied” postulancies
Postulated that freakish endeavors no longer belonged to us,
However blame was repurposed to seem as though
Loss was not loss within the choices they made.

Wherein loss was determinative in the posthumously volitive,
We’d stopped posing as though we were above all of it,
When the gravity of it all suddenly hit us, a bit too hard.

Fastened Interest

Ballistic reactions, maybe, left icy nymphs, overdosed, wishing
Calligraphic creations had, maybe, not come into being,
Viably villainous with vile reviling little smiles, suffused by
Fewer futile futuristic undulating joys, they, just in awe at sorcerous
Usuries, shook when hopeful prognosticates from the usually
Shimmered and ominous grims so weirdly took form, assuredly
Shattering furtiveness the instance lucky menacing usurpers
Garroted and acutely chopped their flitting trying fantasies,
Grisly, leaving them in a state of not knowing.

When She

I watch her gladly staring
At the verdant colored night sky,
I say something, something I can’t remember,
In essence, it was supposedly along the lines
Of, “Do you know what it feels like?”
I entertained divergent possibilities
Where understanding
Was reached inside a chateau
Or maybe it had not been breached
As it seemed she couldn’t hear anything
As she had not given a reply.

It was then she turned to me
And asked, “Perchance you enjoyed
Our gregarious play with firecrackers?”

When neither of us had ever
Even purchased any.

At a loss for words
I held her close (breathing
In her favorite scent), since
I didn’t know how to tell her,
Every single time,
It had only happened
Within her gangrene memories.

Breakdown Pt. 4

Opposing the occident, cardinal directions without reproof,
Heuristically allow wills to break, bend, and collide.

Conundrums in hesitances; considerations to review
Neutered rules, conceptually placed, to protect.

Bipedal packs descend flat specs on comprehensive isogriv
Charts with disregard, despite astute attempts voiced;
Warnings glossed over, but some would entertain
Nuanced gains, for they’d claim, “what’s the harm.”

Fickle impulsivities dabble in a part of a focused improv
Trace, dispersing algae particles that, eventually, transformed into snakes.

Breakdown Pt. 2

“Which imported ants were delivered on
Rotator tracts with that attractive tact?”
“What do you mean by ‘attractive’?”
“‘Twas by a rundown moor,
Displayed with ample room,
Where sunlight slivers, around noon,
Lit them just right. No..on
The dawn it was, of the first light,
Where. Lately, those just born canines,
You know.. how they venture far into cave margins
To stab many a bats in their domicile
To feast on their still pulsating hearts.”
“Huuu.. this feels more like a mood
That is closer to a dreamlike doom,
Rather than something nice. I might
Be losing some sleep from this tonight”,
He frowns slightly, not trying to hide his discomfort.
“Christ. You can fucking call them puppies, if that helps.”

Touching the door under a canopy, mute,
Worn out from hazards in spaces
Where they oft handled hardware, as the poser thought to himself
..even though I know it won’t.