Chrysalid Eclipse

the languor
of our earthen tomb

long looms

its ruinous
quilt upon me

still and all
in swooned repose

i am reprieved

by virtue
of her quiesced poise

and lucent simper’s
supple bloom

which permeates
throughout my wintry lair
of earnest bosom

pearls of porcelain suspend
her visage

bathed upon
my breast’s inhering

gloaming

far afield
from the temple
where she tempers tender hearth

endearment
hence begotten
of unspoken ardor

ne’er shall stand to suffer
the extinguish
of the sated tongue

with all despited

every bated breath
drawn in her stead

remains as slumber
dispossessed of umbral shroud

should a sudden
stellar tempest
pierce these briared boundaries

and upon me
bestow but one lone entreaty

then no weft would
e’er wend
betwixt

our quite
of chrysalid eclipse

[image credit: Vasily (Wilhelm) Alexandrovich Kotarbinsky]

Sempiternal Attestation

in my ardent observations
lies a most disturbing trend
of subsistent dissociation
validating unjust ends

fostered by such foregone fates
alluding to inconsequence
of any measure we might take
in hopes to thus negate their advent

fed to us by corrupt forces
furthering profane agendas
exploiting all known resources
which can never be amended

consciously beyond reconcile
are all scenarios presented
leading us into denial
spurring subconscious self-resentment

stemming from our acquiescence
projected contemptuously
characterizing the essence
of our true pomposity

that anyone would readily succumb
to that which serves their ego
uncovers a conscience numb
that sees and hears yet speaks no evil

as are most things deemed as being
inauspicious to our species
here i am, again decreeing
capitalism’s besieging

any soul not yet usurped
by omnipotent corporate pressure
surely would hereby concur
these words are truth, not mere conjecture!

In My Thoughts

pretense
is a plight
not present

when the heart’s refuge
doth pine

for venus
through vermillion veil

seek not
for this
with sordid vies

for love is but the toil of tempest’s

tethered breast of importune

resting
on the rusted hinge

of wings

once struck with eminence

whence dusk resumed

in requiem

of fulminance
found unremitting

Why I Forgo Expectation

i pondered of your predilections
assayed your affinities
factored in your flights of fancy
calculated your caprice

studied your states of prelation
considered all circumstances
then reflected on the vast array
of things i know about you

wondering what would you most want
putting myself in your shoes
and then, your mother’s army boots
which did prove quite luxurious

with the greatest care i crafted
such a thoughtful course of action
that i might create something
that somehow could convey my feelings

time and effort, ever crucial
afterthought, never afforded
if one hopes to foster fortune
they must forge fastidiously

then i put the pen to paper
poring over every scrawling
most i found inscrutable
i’m spite of conspicuous squinting

some parts were improvisation
others, divine intervention
as you might suspect
the breadth was through aeluroid observation

once the final touch was finished
visions filled my head like bullets
culled from dubious provenance
still-born staples told idyllic

anxious with anticipation
come the moment, i near missed it
when you quickly made a fuss
complaining of my cruel intentions

from an instance several days past
when i said that i would get you M&M’s
but failed most direly
for the size i bought was quitely
an affront to every fiber of you’re being
therefore it would follow that you were beholden to your base compulsion
to disclose most thoroughly
the horrors of the indignation
you were made to suffer
by my selfish nature

which just, never changes

how could i have been so foolish
let this be a staunch reminder
i won’t let this happen next time
for it’s party-size or die!

wait, wasn’t i saying something?

oh well, then i guess it wasn’t really that important…

Passing

passing
this day once more

no longer
does it brand your flesh

by numerary token

and me

i plunder through
haphazard pleas
bound for my prized mound of dirt

perhaps that was what they meant

when they teased
of it not hurting

alas, here

heir to this godless realm

where only carbon
carves out truths

with soot
upon a furrowed brow

implore of ids empty ends

tortured by our own devices

ever breaching
breathless flight

in torment

sacrificed

left alone
to tend these voids

piling sands
to no avail

through the strangled
lens of vitral

all retires
without return

haunted
by the silent voices

words upon a ceaseless wind

billowing

throughout the absent well

of our discrepant minds