Morning is reborn in broken sentences

Like the sound of skin

In a summers trickle of dispute

Covers all in a swaddling shroud

A falcon leaves flies away

With shreak tells all

There is nothing here

But this abandoned boy

he emerged shocking

in his reality

in the nakedness of selfhood

and cheap approximations

reduced to a simple ‘I’

to which all of us are leveled

at those instances when

we don’t have to exist for other people

it is a nameless solitude

a realm of migrant squalor

where disposable smiles

are smeared across unreasonable faces

and where one is forced to seek

a loyalty of angers in others the same

Dark night of the tallest dreams

Whose visions yearn for a willing

Transformation of themselves

And cry pretensions of constraints

And possibilities of ****** intensity

Who emphasize a drama of forced elements

In dark violent and repressive potential

That leaves such visions impoverished

Yes impoverished of an outcome

Unable to shape such matters

Into coherent form

Allows for vicious energies

Of an intense and exhausting experience

Makes vigorous its form of monstrous depiction

That leaves an eternity of lamentation in their making

Inducing that of evaluative vertigo

That flares into a conflagration of the mind

Embalming the senses, allows for a turmoil of demons

Of fathomless malice and grotesque shadows

To be the inauguaration of the tragedy of my night

This unresolved ambivalence

Contaminates a dubious sense

Of accents yet unknown

And of unbridled words yet unspoken

Where one becomes haunted by circumstances

Bequeathed to a virtuous iniquity of discourse

Whose fabrication of appearance binds deception

Yet transforms human misery by conscious and unconscious

Deployment of illusions were words are those energies

Given free rein and perform a fecundity of speech  

Defying as it does so semantic predictability

And brings dissolution to normality

The first born UNICORN

He wears his falseness as if in fatigue

Like the new old décor of a bad Victorian theme pub

A nostalgia of bland notoriety, hideous, perhaps contagious

For it is indiscriminate and without compromise in its counterfeit

Lying in wait, eagerly in ambush, hidden by a thought

A thin antiquated distraction, a solitary mutilation of identity

Deflecting interest in amplified displacement into delirious disguise

Re-emerging in distraction, pestering, problematic,

Destabilizing directness in its ubiquitous imaginary lie

It is a realization that one is all too aware off

Yet despite this knowledge cannot help but conspire in its captivating complicity

I am fearful to look upon him directly,

For in so doing I may discover in his open masque

Improbable truths about myself, as foul as any slander

I see him and my heart sprinkles

Soft constellations upon me

Oh how I wish I knew

The secret language of his

Dark attraction

I would speak it

Shout it, sing it

Just like a love song

In that moment

That same moment

That moment of becoming

Thou hast  bequeathed me

Difficult circumstance

A Monster of iniquity

Where comedy and tragedy

Form themselves upon

The rhythms of my life

One that is not

Impoverished of ridicule