Where is this? It’s here

Well more or less

I listen to the color of music

In so doing hear Arthur

Hear the candence

Of the colored vowels

Voyelles, voyelles, voyelles……..

And the world cannot contain me

Let all the masks confess

Shame the world

Let the bowstrings

Of love confuse them

The ghost of my eternity

Like a stone carved dream

Floats in blue air reflections

Of crystal mirrors

With lips untaught to smile

Already blind, stares at the sun

For there is no title, unless given

Surrogate thoughts on unpardonable parchment / A counterfeit of reason / The Bastion of idiocy/

The complete disarrangement of all my senses, myself my I

Is threatened with the bitter sound of uncertain rumour

That possesses an urgency of unwillingness

An incomprehension of thought

The improvised mediocrity of relished indignity

Asinine questions, absurd and ludicrous probing

Accusations and primitive propensities

The deformities of exaggerated obscenities

That blame and brand myself my I as mad

They have stolen liars tongues

A blackness drips from my eyes

Into a cataclysm that awaits

Strung out in the coal black void

Piercing sentiments of symmetry

Elucidating a journey

From the external world

Where I seek sanctuary for my visions

Before they are thrown, dashed

Against bare brick walls

The ultimate realisation of imaginative truth

Shattering in torment falling

Sprinkling to a festering ground

Proclaiming the dominance of emptiness

Pictures of shadows

Turn their faces from me

Words run away in fear

Streets are crowded with

Screaming squealing sentences

Squalls of colored vowels scurry

Furtive and fearful consonants

Collide in panic to escape

The blinding ignorance of 'normality'

Hunts down the paragraphs

Books, notes, letters are piled high

A bonfire is lit the flesh of words

Of thoughts of alternatives melt

The flames are stoked ashes fly

Spiraling into the air

A smell of bitter blackness

Pervasive and prolonged

A bleak confession to tragedy