Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
~
I'm an exit wound
I'm a numinous obstacle
I'm about to make landfall
I'm about to break free

I'm a nerve ender
A fascinator
A purifier
A world populator
And I'm about to break through

I'm the push and pull
I'm a counter argument
I'm dissonance resistance
I'm viral replication
I'm about to break out

I'm a singularity
I'm a spark
I'm the perfect detonator
To mind and heart
And I'm about to break up

I'm a simulacra
I'm an oscillation
Made of breath only
I'm a living, moving imprint
Of what no longer is
Yet somehow seems to be

~
✓My favorite weapon
✓Bikini ski boat
✓Fluorescent sand
✓Her eyes immaculate
✓Keys to the prophet's house
✓Emotional screening device
✓1 cup of sun, 3 teaspoons of rain
✓Third world treasure map & saxophone
✓Alternate flightpaths
✓Extra parachute
✓Mediocre Shakespeare
✓Poison pen letters
✓Getaway car & escape route
✓Ladies in waiting (in lingerie)
✓Subterranean lips
✓A pinch of film noir
✓Night vision
✓Antarctic scenarios
✓Fountain of remembrance
✓Policy of containment
✓Silhouette machine
✓Water wings
✓Pillow
Along a trickling stream,
there's a hushed whereabouts
she likes to routinely gather
her thoughts from, before
assigning her task
to bathing amongst
the shadows.

Today's reflections vastly
withdrew, untwining
such musings,
as a playful breeze
whispered unto her
of an unbeknownst admirer's
dedication.

And so avidly fixed it was
upon the arched swell of
her lower back,
she quite shivered.
But be it a pleasurable fear,
she allowed him such liberties,
and stepped into the light.
Sad reflections from
donated dreams.
Charity's
fallen embers.
Like a high UV index
they burn right into
your skin.
Freckling
your thoughts with a bit of compromise.

Close your eyes
to the possibility
inertia
has made itself at home.
You'll feel it, feel it
right to the bone.
But you crossed that bridge
long ago.
In the time of
tranquil misgivings.
You gave consent to
sin by offering up
your sons and daughters.
Drowning them
in the shallow end of dissipated water.

Sing hymns
all you like.
Piety
is not for sale.
And the angel light
that hits the wall
is not in the shape of Mary.
Evil always figures into
these things.
Don't you know? Heat rises. Blood falls.

So burn your prayers
on a stick. Roast them
in the campfire. You'll never turn
to God until you lie
dying. Broken and heaving.
Asking for forgiveness.
Which a man of cloth
will grant.
Such a charmed life to leave.

Only it's a cheat.
A spoonful
of circumvention.
Making you feel
warm and clever
as you bleed out. Regrettably,
your vacuous heart
sailed off on the Greta Garbo
and mortgaged
your future for such marquee.
Banking on the
here and now.
From this there can be no redemption.
This is not a common era

The trouble is threefold

Drinking from an empty glass

Opening the door to strangers

Walking along these jagged cliffs

If you tolerate this

Your children will be next
Reality is so unreliable. In the water of life we surf the wave of chance. Rise or fall as hunters in the snow. The isolating future is already here. But people are still people, they still need each other. The anachronistic branch of knowledge we are dedicated to - the day in, day out - is a deluded science. It is we who would be the objects of enquiry and fascination to an alien mind. Humanity is the true wonder, the true miracle.
In fog or flood,
it has to look like news
and not wear down too soon,
not be abandoned at the shipyard;
hunt-and-peck it to death,
it remains invisible, so readable
that it does nothing to draw
attention to itself,
leaving only the content
in its lapidary wake.
Next page