the earth shifts


into weightless dimensions

a mind
tethered to such unfathomable fates

the toll
that time takes

in the wallow
of wakefulness

unfolds like a lingering death

as though betrothed

blindly following paths
thought redemptive

this wrath of loathsome emptiness
e’er persists

in the laughter
of fools

no more

is it too much
to ask

not to feel

this affliction

to be

from this sentence

run on
for too long

what cruelness had sent this

lone fool
out to forage

left to spent devices

affixed on the furnace

return all
to dust

i trust in its mercy

its silent allure

its answer, forthcoming

“i am here”

pray embrace me

with faith, less
no more

Do I Wish

the baleful blow
of black damask
has left us
worn and wanting

sifting through
our scattered scripts
for hints of reassurance

though we must now strain
and squint
to scarcely glimpse

what forstood garish

even more
do subtle passions

in the rouge of roses

by strictured thoughts

stoically restructured
into mantids
of submissive mask

with solitary mandible

and pebble’s plight

tread head-on
into mournful laughter

after which
i do not know

nor do i wish
for more

than death

[image credit: Edvard Munch]


do the whispers waft
into our twilit sills

wrought with swaying
unfound merit

peerless ripples
drawn toward rapture

deviate into divineness

sowing weightless tapestries
of finite fates
so tenuous

as twines weaving sinuous wrinkles
born betwixt the burden
of eternal wax and wane

whence seen through
the unseeing eye

watchfully in pithless ponder

plunder of our prosody
on paths
where pasts did weep

has since turned into prose

its sacred sentiments supposed

triumph we once swore
in visions
wakeless throughout wrested slumber

the sun’s refute
slow poring over muted snowfall

unwavering vows
burrow through
ciliced breast

tinged solanaceous

fragile fractals
found bestrowing

flashes in the midst
of chaos

aloft such strange striations

situated rows
composed of moted repose

frigid languor
finds embers subdued

particles of prisms seep
the pain staked with nature’s precision

into furtive crevices

transposing then
our timeworn trinkets
into infinite arrays

of twinkling
vast ornate escarpments
ever to adorn this landscape

waiting to one day be unearthed
so they may be birthed anew

once we will have all surrendered

to an end
thought not befitting

stewards of phantom perspectives

stowed away
’til hearth transcends

[image credit: Ephraim Moses Lilien]