I Prefer Not To.
reeling from the shrill assail
falls entropy surreal
shrieking past in amaranthine streaks
present will
spawn futures fading
fanning flames
of phantom fears
the silphium of self-affliction
arms outstretched
wretched hands of spider-like accosting
insistent to collect the extant toll
mortals of a moribundity
so profoundly mundane
stranded on ledges
of bridges burned
at oblivion’s edge
a futile spiral of lament
into event horizon
[image credit: Freydoon Rassouli]
hours give way to days
stripped of all
but all things arbitrary
every breath a lulled semantic
waning further with each pull
messengers of life’s surrender
dole out cursory entreaties
just as i
they suffer in a solitude of silent truth
trudging mournfully through the morass
in erstwhile lamentation
writhing in the paradox
of reverie amid eschewal
pray your voice ne’er stray afar
come throes of disavowal
fleeing from these feelings dreadful
reticence of conscious dispose
as we are, hapless to unwind
the circumstance that is time’s bidding
still, i cannot stay the ingress
of my memory’s procession
though i failed to give you ward
when desperation marred your world
so profound was your disposition
that i can now forgive myself
should all the stars above
assimilate in singularity
i trust our souls
will always be as one
[image credit: Marta Kiss]
the world could only end
without you here
where mountains slow surrender
to the ceaseless seas’ entreaty
beneath the spired redwoods
breaching lucent skies alluring
through arid valleys of toiling sun
stretching long onto the virid shores
where first i held you
this land will hold our untold memories
as time permits their essence
in a distant realm of consciousness
we manifest as things once precious
i know that there could be no other way
despite the days adrift
inside abysses of solemnity
the twilight of your kiss cerise
still faults the earthen sheath
[image credit: Rockwell Kent]
my longing for thee
hast spanned the ages
formed whence mine eyes
felleth ‘pon the first star
heaven e’er hungeth before me
in the dawn of incarnations
dormant layeth mine heart’s behest
driven by duress tormenting
sated only by thy touch
happenstance at times denied us
sorrow then spurred conflagration
all consumed by thine impelling
left bereft skies turned to ruin
in reverie with ardor singeth
harmonies of our reunion
by the virtue of this plight
we walketh ’til the sun’s retire
[image credit: František Kobliha]
the abstract tapestry of thought and emotion
sifting through memories
persisting beyond the toll of midnight
a surreality poignance fraught
amidst your fabled absence
through context into lucid light
those wayward flecks take flight
seeing now
the urgency defining bated breath
hindsight is a bird unbounded
heaven’s haste begets unheeding
by the merit of its taste
left on the tongue in lingering
how is it that voices lacking tangible disclosure
visibly vociferate through vales
our verities unseen
only to be vetted in the aftermath
of fate’s denouement
moments later, vested virtues
forsaken anew
by the nighest conscious duress
of my conscience’s affording
i will honor your bestowing
in the bastion of my breast
pray not let these pointed lessons fall
when life resumes its pique
[image credit: Edouard Goerg]
and it was today
not knowing its meaning
not knowing why
i know that i love you.
that nothing remains
in this nomad’s world
for hands to behold
but the fleeting whispers
through eyes spent
desiccant.
i watch
immured in solitude
when laymen’s hours prohibit
with all they dared to disregard.
i struggle to make out a face
its features framed of faint obscure
ne’er could i mistake
that feeling
the comfort of your company
forever, it resides within me.
with naught but useless
power of flesh
i flounder in this hopeless muster
holding onto dust
the taste of rust upon my quivered lip
all that i do humbly ask
would you now hear this utterance
“just one simple sentiment, i miss you.”.
through these memories, i bleed
into somatic nights of static
’til our stars again align
go now
ravage every sky
that stings with freedom
whence sought of your heart’s requite
[image credit: Sadanobu Hasegawa IV]
fervid doth my heart display
upon the slightest thought of thee
dormant dreams arise anew
when florid moons sing incantations
sordid affectations
of this wastrel’s world disperse to naught
beneath the sheath of shadows
and the solitary quell
knowing all too well
this quietude will fall
by brandished sol
its call belies our silent reverie
ere the dawn bestows its blessing
lonely vows bleed vesper’s veil
plots of untold errant solace
lost amid the hour’s assailing
muted miles of sloe and slumber
hapless, by the sky’s refute
once consumed of aural umbrage
eyes beguiled wept rapturous woe
life in dulled gray street’s meander
sights and sounds of pandered plight
such effusive flights of fluster
never would we find profound
ours is of the hourglass sifted
leave the heedless hordes to wrest
we remain unscathed by fires
hailing from the hell-bound rust
[image credit: James R. Eads]
sink beneath
the sand of sorrows
hallowed catacombs
await
mortal tombs
hold treasures borrowed
sown into
the desert’s wake
time exists
in every tense
with all dimensions
coalescing
ancient tomes
foretell the future
shifting
in between dimensions
drift from ending
to beginning
softly
silent suns are setting
as we shed
our sacred secrets
into the abyss of freedom
i could hide
for a hundred
thousand years
and still emerge
with the same spectrum
of debilitating fears
avoidance does nothing
to avail our evolution
for the breadth of our experience
carries on in our dearth
and distant earths
may yet reveal
our present form unknown
nonetheless
a consciousness
cannot eclipse
its own immortality
for all eternity
and yet . . .
[image credit: Fumihiro Kato]
sometimes in life
it’s all you can do
not to hang from the end
of a dangling noose
when ideals falter
from altered epiphanies
self-imposed litanies
taunt us as truth
reasons unclear
hearken feelings concise
as we slowly succumb
to scopolamine nights
on a hollow dimensional plane
of feigned platitudes
sorrowful vice
desperate pleas seeking quietude
labeled as sacrilege
should we repair
to undo the heedless act
of summoning us here
where an iron fist reigns
with such ironic scrutiny
e’er you should mention
proactive acuity
still, none dare question
’til quietus calls
of that which our parents
paid no mind at all
the stigma, long-standing
insists these facades
are gifts that cannot be revoked
but by god
how oddly beholden
to cognitive bias
that we forgo logic
and deign ourselves pious
to then misappropriate
most hypocritically
fate in itself
with such flagrant defiance
if only our efforts
were aimed toward reality
instead, we sacrifice all
for mere fantasy
lacking the merit
to make the distinction
between fact and metaphorical depiction
we must make the choice
to adhere to a mindset
consisting of ethics
not pandered by pretense
for should we persist
to exist with such dissonance
life itself will soon submit
to obsolescence
[image credit: Louis Wain]
Max, or Not 
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