Sentence of Sentience – Max Meunier

My latest poem on Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

max

Sentence of Sentience – Max Meunier

what have i
but quieted inquiries

hollowed
and echoed
through vales
of a sub-violet druse
of aversion

no tangible touch
to form valid expression

intentions adrift
amid merciless
miles of mutable morass

from which somnolous streams
softly spill
forth eclipses

in lapses
bereft of availing account

where whims slowly waft
beyond walled apparitions

fled from partition
to form in summation
a dormant despair
born of quiet desperation

awaiting conclusion
in sediments muring

a freedom reprieved
of sententious ideal

for what purpose plausible
peers within prisms

but spectacle
cradling consciences captious

enraptured in casting incessant goodbyes

alas
i digress
lest my thoughts
become i

[image credit: Wilhelm Kotarbinski]

Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of hyper-vigilant observations.  I am obsessed with words and rhythmically woven…

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Kicketh Swift

if true thou art a man
thy balls deserve a kicketh swift
without needeth for inquiry
i duly must submit

for many an affront
man hast rent against womankind
speaking bluntly
each man shouldst beest kicked a thousand times!

one mustn’t beg a scholar
nor a mystic to prepare
the impetus which urges forth
a man who wouldst forswear

it shouldst beest understood
how the male ego is a force
that is as one and the same
as the penis, but of course!

which thusly doth imply
’tis e’er beholden to his id
but dareth not alloweth us
to allay his plaintive bid

the scroll holding the record
which describes man’s sexist crimes
would ne’er cease its unfolding
’til it hath reached the end of time

if thou wouldst serveth fools
as an apologist for men
i hereby dost forsake thee
i calleth no knave my friend

presume no expectation
i needeth pray pardon me
and stayeth thine indignation
such is woman’s, i decree

 

Thoughts of You

the sanitarium
of autumn air
arrived at long last

somehow
i fathomed it
would save me

from this driftless droll

but frigid whispers
speak of loneliness

and softly muted
skies of gray
betray the sun
by umbral answer

empty

does my hand sit still
cold and numb

as sure as seasons cycle
failing not

the absence of your touch
yet ails me

the untold world
we shared in wonder

has since turned
inside out to mock me

if only
everything within
would stop

revealing thoughts
of you

[image credit: Brynna Campbell]

None for All

this latent flower blooms
ephemerality
unraveled by perception

doldrum drags the languid line
along the distant
dark horizon

heedless
hapless
scattered bursts
of flinching halcyon light

unheard and unhinged

idly observant
as they lay alone
ensconced in idyll

blindly
sidling up to peer
into the fabled looking glass

the unembraceable oblivion

of life
thus being lived

so beguiled
with wide eyes
transfixed
trained on all aspects extrinsic

thoughts forgo
the burden
of the body’s bound appointment

led
like sleepless sheep
to slaughter

corralled by the lust for dollar

oozing out of every orifice
in opulence
tumescent

sated only by the tendered tears
of silent souls exploited

open skies of pending promise
play out in posthumous loops
pandered shamelessly
to pliant pupils
of capitalist coercion
frantically amassing resources
to quell their crippling stupor
stripped of hope found viable
resolved to plastic revolutions

blaring
from a “life-like” screen
of liquid crystal coiled confinement

brow-beaten
by expectation

shamed into a feigned performance

extricated
to a realm
where obsessive
self-preservation
fast replaces sound decision

superimposed sentience

severing all ties
to our humanity
with conscience numbing
calls inciting indignation

egoism inundated

flags emblazoned
with our visage

every fragile fiber
of our poignancy
resigned to toxic piles
of perduring compost

fingers inconspicuously point
our voiceless voids
toward specious Edens

tragically
the one and only
chance we ever had was wasted

all for one
and none for all

for nothing is more self-defeating
sold-out
and consigned to scourge
than that which only serves
the self

and seldom
does this not occur

[image credit: Riera Rojas]

Sell Fee

who knows?

if we timed it right
our death
could be
that winning selfie

nothing too contrived

oh heavens no!

death can be so passé
when left in uncouth hands

let us not belittle ours
with hideous allusions
to the failed attempts
of nondescripts
perishing in decidedly unscripted ways

plummetting unceremoniously
from precarious ledges
by mere heedless step

me oh my…

no, we must be mindful
when we execute the monumental moment

there shall be none
of those awkward bystanders
murdering our perfect shot
with their insipid frivoling

we must devise a protocol
to prevent
would-be interlopers

we certainly wouldn’t
allow ourselves to be caught
dead
unwittingly shooting a short video
in lieu of an actual picture

no no!
we might die
of embarrassment!

it will take some time
of course
for we must duly
study this art of dying

focusing
on symbolism
for that
is where avant-garde
persists

after which
by rule of artistry
we must wholly disregard

for only the tastemakers
can understand
what is the now

nuance
is of the direst importance

fear
should strike
only as an afterthought

when the masses
see this selfie
we want it to be them
they see

the truest mark of flattery
is mimicry

and pray they seek
to follow through

it should be so masterful
that they will be helpless
but to heed its call
and revel its irrefutable glory

every sense
must be aroused
if we are to succeed

such an audience as ours
will likely be as dulled
and senseless
as one would expect

begging us to bear in mind

that they have other sights
yet to see

we must take care
not to falter

yes

let this be the selfie
that launched a hundred thousand homages

i can almost see it now

a swallowed tongue

better yet
a severed one

this calls for
multiple exposures

[image credit: Raquel Stokes]

Recalled, This Moment

burning
sapphire moons
reflect the oceans

lost
to wept erosion

born
not witnessed

heaven’s happenstance
reduced to cinders

sinned

a godless earth
to nigh be torn asunder

placid pools
rapt
stripped eternal
hollow scenes
denied serenity

come then
mistral asterism
streak ephemeral
floods flashing

pray
submerge this surface
like a curse
of thought impearled

a prelude
to lunar requite

through inquest
strewed long
traced horizon

us
in umbral undulation
seeping hexagonal taper

petals once pressed
now paradoxical

a peripatetic lexicon
still lingers
in papyrus

spurring pulse

that precious urge

to crash
the inner sanctum
of the ichorous chrysalis

sacred skin
in glyph-wrought confines
spired
amid its muting
moored in chrysoprase seclusion

like silverine escarpment
in holosericeus cradle

pendulously presaging

crux
of impending compromise

this symphony
of decomposing

closure unabiding

[image credit: Jan Toorop]