I Prefer Not To.
and here we are
yet living
on this eve of lost idyll
i am no more able
to feel your touch
than sorrowed skies retreat
the passing hours
grow ever darker
my lair has turned to dust
unsettled
roaming on this plane
alone
in search of any senseless reason
the more i look
the more i find
my mind is but a distant ruin
littered with the consequence
of time’s relentless ire
as truths unravel
by its hands
extending far beyond
the grave
where now
not even death
can stand to save us
what an oddly profound mechanism memory is
to be able to hear
the exact sound of someone’s voice
from years ago just by imagining it
to be able to vividly picture
a scene from a bygone era
whilst simultaneously looking
at the reality of the present moment
to summon the irreplicable symphony of flavors
rendezvousing upon the tongue
from a cherished dish
whose creator is no more
to behold the sweet scent
that once had found your senses
rapt in an erstwhile lover’s embrace
to revisit the feeling
of fleeting ideals
whence they fooled you into falling
for what you thought would be forever
foundations are ever shifting
in the light of newfound context
tragedy reshapes the stories
locked within our mind
knowing that the day will come
when all that we might stand to muster
swiftly turns to dust swept away
by a lonesome gust of wind
and this, the only truth
that we might ever trust in
it is for this very reason
we must live
within each moment
to foster our experience
as though it were untold
to leave a bold impression
that we one day might recall again
when all is lost as we retreat
into death shrouds of our own making
ceaselessly
caught between
two worlds of wonder
one of which
i revel
in a beauty
yet untold
watching it unfold
in muted ponder
another
so disheveled
that i shudder
to behold
ruthlessly
comprised
of pealing thunder
underneath
the undulation
lies a plundered soul
pandering
the plight
of its condition
haunted
by the light
ever lingering
on yonder
longing
for an answer
to it all
with all that we may stand to gain
or lose
upon a single breath
prudence yet eludes
our voice of truth
flaunting our pathologies
solicitudes become us
highwaymen who strum
submissive hearts
creatures born of covetous
convinced by vaporous conviction
candy coated candor
with a cracker jack surprise
desiccated eyes
no longer fit
to hold this thin disguise
rolling to reveal a hollow head
where tears unshed yet hide
let the earthen bounty
be your pillow
as the balsam breeze
tucks you in its whispered lull
tonight
our frailty
is forgiven
heaven dare not fathom
to assail us
whence we lay
its offerings
are present
for the taking
as prismed apparitions
through shifting crypts of time
searching for the shadow
of forgiveness
where folding stars
outstare the eye of jupiter
death is but a fear unsound
thought traps within
the silent walls that bind us
stepping through
eternal mirrors
on journeys shared as one
‘neath these precious suns
of stoic tempest flare
there are only so many metaphors
that serve to justify this pain
so many words
chewed up
and spit back out
onto surfaces
whose purpose
carries all burdens
these feelings are like water
journeying alone
in a fearless freefall
crashing into the earth below
to join the fates
that all have known
still, each fragment
leaves its mark
for others to embark upon
in the hour
of our exodus to exile
the skies belong to one
as one to all
as life itself
bleeds into the eyes
at the horizon
we take our tragic pittance
wrought from anguish
each within the alchemy intrinsic
to their own
to spin the loom
and weave majestic tapestries
of triumph
to share the secrets
intimately held
by furtive moons
the well of inspiration draws from sources which are infinite
to bridge connection to each one demands forethought discriminate
we must maintain fastidious pursuit of new experience
to formulate the truth of our expressive voice in variants
each origin is cyclical in its availability
therefore we must commit to an atypical agility
lest we submit to dormancy, a fate surely abhorrent
we must all embrace the stormy seas and revel in the torrent
even everyday minutiae has a merit worth attending
it is only in this spirit does our muse become unending
this exemplifies the reason why we must remain objective
exercising our innate ability to be reflective
analyzing every aspect of the open world around us
sees us not to jeopardize our very existential impetus
for many things persist within this life which can demoralize
in manners most ubiquitous seen fit to leave us compromised
thus rendering creative function far less than fortuitous
engendering superlative compunction most gratuitous
it is upon such moments when doth art submit to artifice
and hearts succumb to numbness amid constructs born of avarice
therefore we must ensure to heed a purity of influence
and shore up our defenses courting verity with confidence
to hearken only calls which bear the mark of authenticity
embarking on our journey poised with prudent perspicacity
for muse is but a fickle and capricious force by nature
to abuse it only serves to redefine its nomenclature
hence, we must stay mindful and forgo the fruit found on the lowest branch
lest we are left to wallow in the throes of sophist circumstance
and such is not a fate abating idealization
of our suicidal woes, condemning our souls to damnation
with lackadaisical regard
i watch as they dwindle
one by one
and sometimes two
or more
i never formed
a reason to rhyme
until time descended
upon me
like a pornographic impulse
brew me another cup
of disillusionment
while you’re at it
that last one
nearly fit the bill
sometimes
i wonder if i actually will
or would
or could
of course,
there is no question
as to whether or not
i should
though i am
but a coward
in uncomfortable skin
i’ve worn out
since the day
the world informed me
as i swallow
more
to boredom’s pallor
like a Fuller Brush Man
in a town inhabited
by ghosts
where nothing hearkens
but the silence
that consumes me
as a void that lay
between two mirrors
spared of my own completion
my spirit longs
to be the stars
that fill your sky
my heart would shine
reflections
of its truth
to lift you
up into a realm
where solace
sings redemption
that once
you laid upon me
by the mercy
of your kiss
but even vigilance
has lost its vested path
these broken roads
no longer
reach epiphany
as apathy
alone
absconds
with wistful dew
i thought
would one day
compose a river
through the valley
whence our love
had rent the earth
that i might sail
those tempestuous waters
in search
of where the willows
wept your name
but all my efforts
toiling at the pulley
have only returned
buckets
of morass
wrested hands
from years
of untold callous
now leave me
to attend
this ghostly shore
where sorrow comes
to lay for death
in prostrate
with arms
of clay stretched thin
succumbed to dust
once sought
to sway the forces
of the cosmos
with hope
to never stray
from its embrace
as mountains
birthed of mirthless
apprehension
would vanish
into the silence
of forever
a poem is but
a restive cluster
grasping
onto pages
with our frantic
fears conspicuously
calling out
for rescue
meticulously poring through
decrepit thoughts
of hoarded visions
kiss to tryst
to triste
in a blissful
dissolution
before sediment
comes nigh
where sighs undress
our destitute descries
calculated coalescence
pandering our pride’s
priviest imprints
curling chips of paint
exposing throes
of yesterdays
sacred cruxes
born before
our burgeoning bereavement
from whence all
embarking destined
for a distant hearken
poised to be
impartially presented
in pretentiously penned
appropriations
parsed
to pierce our peers
appetition
to sate this
untold inquisition
Max, or Not 
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