With condescendence circumference selfishly once said to spiral:
"You are ridiculous and useless curve, my popularity is viral!"
So you, the poet, in vanity, being only with talent of your own bound,
Believe that center of the world you are, and all the rest rotates around.
Seep upon the illusion of vanity,
As your true morality contested.
While all things fall asunder,
None reach perfect atonement.
Such struggle is but divinity of being human,
The tested fallacy in full glory.
In those imperfection lies heart of human kind,
And ridged expectation flow with the wind,
For all things do come to an end.
That precious moments define us,
And our flaws prescribe to center of universe,
For night sky are basked by infinite wisdom.
All things are illumination of life,
And there are no regrets,
But lost ether alone amongst the serenity of celestial plane.
There are no perfect universe that cradle our senses, but why would we want to clone who we are, knowing imitation is a limitation?
I will tell you not of our
Secret mangrove tenement,
Tunneled through the space
behind both of our eyes.
A place meant for whimsy
and bioluminescent fauna,
fawning faux sun light
out into obsidian night.
Nor will I tell of our
soul’s soft meridian,
served on the half shell
to both kind and prying
eyes, distant though
unarguably tied— ribbons
spun, fastened, dyed
For what end should I tell?
When your very presence is
And your very absence
My life is spinning
Revolving faster than it looks
With memories that's circling through my mind
Those bad days I've experienced
In every circles it makes, it's more complicated
When you broke my heart like ice melting down
You didn't even try to listen to my voice
When I was telling you that it is not true
I was asking God for assistance
Praying hard for us to be together again
Doing all for that miracle to happen
But it kept telling that we are not destined
Today, I end this dumbness
In believing of something impossible
Letting this world in circles
Where my life revolves everyday until I die
I have watched mothers lose
their children, and children lose their mothers. I am tied
by my toes to a loop
which can be seen in cafes and morgues -
the breast-feeding, the burying, the everything is all
on a string. I have heard about
women and children thinking they are unlimited,
I am unlimited, too, if
the two ends of a circle never meet.
My lover once closed his heart off from everyone, and I
never understood until now
that you do not
have to open up in order to be full inside. I still can
water his flowers, even the weeds
and he never has to open his eyes to see and
he never has to open his heart
to feel. I understand that sometimes it is better to just be.
Allude across form
Rhythm wrinkled dust
Torn to terrorized pieces
In the dark
Whose war have we
Stumbled stiffly into
An arbitrary anecdote
Awarded after the first hand
For freedom rises
Forming first that no man
Will willfully ever choose to be last
Soldier's of sacrifice
Hollering hum drum
Whistling for Wendy's crotches
Notoriety noting only
Reasoning to write to be read
Where genius is measured
By the breaking of borders
And one's ability to live through
A notable drug addiction
Cards care-free in their massacre
Wink while the waitress spills
Her high-ball on the suit pants
Of an ovary obsessed lawyer
Sure to be sued one day
By the government
The outside world
Is highly uninterested
In whatever problems
The ego may have
Conjured up this Monday
The artist whines as the
Dirtied laundry of childhood
Dries stiff, fading into a
Stain reminiscent of a dream
The mirror reflects the sun
Into my bedroom as I wake
To the sights of a world bent
On creating its own Armageddon
At the moment
I think about rent
Where to get it
And head back