Patchwork sky beyond the reach
—They breach the alley way
Swimming swathes amidst the blue
—Flash the knives and young curses
Lost for incongruity
—Mere kids, mere savagery
All, now, is coated silver
—Empty packets hunger
We move on toward our night
—Shame young beasts grow old, too.

Pursue anxieties through the arches
Grand clothes, in all, proscenium
Marks the flesh of fiction of which
We wear in pride and tears, breaking
At whimsy the sacred real. Born in
That repetition, the rebel who rips
With rage and striking tongue solidity
All to null. We hold the soul of the earth
In balance just as we know every second
And intense authority, conscious of the body
To mold the putty of your lives.
Absurd boheme! But this magician
This contradiction with no delusion of self
As close as any man may get therefore
To perfection in our nihil.
Running, running all alongside
The misted face of high Olympus
And greatly gathering elements
And crafting, as any god to waltz
In history and awe, Absolute from
Absolute None.
Meet us when, meet us when
All the words like leaves do die
We’ll leave you with the seed of it
From drama comes drama
To drama it will go.

There is something, a more perfect flame
Born of the cold of its self-destructive Same
As all fire in every iteration.
Why does it consume, a being therefrom
Ash, budding in envy and infantile,
Itself? Where shall it return? Tragedies
In waves and yet I’m so affixed
To those weeping, weeping lost
Amidst themselves, wanting completeness
Or one leaf to survive them
Through the Spring. Here, amidst
The tragedies, red-eyed, disheveled
And hoping for rebirth.
I will stand here, bury it in earth.

Pretend pretend-pine at a ponytail
And feel this kicking heart
Stronger than the last
Stranger to sit in view of class.
Ah! Comfort in obscurity
Nestled in the corner, darked
but to glass and passing time.
In there, my head, the songs begin
Of lips of Siren, no fear of wrong
I’ll stay righted to and from
Capreae, and meet the mind and face
Of elegance not reflected in the water.
If this lens be infinite
The aethers usher out a sigh
Second only in my own.
But cursed coldness and mock clairvoyance
Had lit a blonde in my vanity
And cast out front in my vicinity—
Oh! Woe to shrugs of dependency!—
Somewhere blown leaves turn to seedlings
As to this aspect I am kneeling,
Fair fall will turn to spring.

Lashes emerge from one fair ear
Casting her gaze, perhaps back here—
A cough and noise what could it be
What disturbance is at of me?
Oh, now I feel the dreaded “L”
Whatever that could mean
Which only its binate twin could quell—
Two gentle abysses pass in their cursory
And all conflagrated, two passions at ends!
Now begins the heavy labor of siding
In both and achieving neither.

Sayest timshel from leaf and vine
You keep yours and I’ll keep mine

I vow not to be a shoulder to cry on
A balm to that Sartrean dis-ease

At which even he would shake his head.
Can you choose when things are weighted

By our stones a lapis and gold?
Of truncations of freedom to you

Even seem old? You, you step back
From the depths, from your behest

For know you are learned, deserved, and
White, your struggles aren’t so lead

Lament, can I, at no progress
Being the same in thought, though

Practice, marked indifference. We are
Not free, nor are we doomed

Rail against thyself and bear
And bite your teeth at the cord.

A coffee shop afternoon can say it looms significant
In the steamer’s sweet humidity
And the idle legs pace for more
I hear the whispers of world-changers and gossip mix
Local color of a quiet little town.

Sit humble and lean, a fixture ‘till showtime
And ask lines around just we’ve they’ve been
And who they’ve seen.

There’s a poetry in the patron, come
My gaze permits and intervenes
Its narrative and scheme, in lover’s hand enweaved.

Graphite plays its frustrate part the writer
Seated far, far in a blissful nadir
Bristles in his pony tail like drawers end to no avail.

Empty seats from me across; I sigh not, nor count it loss
But the drop of liquor and memory bits
Pieced together, but still a myth.

I question to the coffee light just why and what
Holds violence behind a wall of height?
Exactly how can he show his face around here?

Contrition is stretching unapologetically
For does it, too, know my fantasy
Or that I am vague to its reality?

Act or no, this marked giant infantile,
Acts on this, on me, my quintessence
As it's years from adolescence

A sigh, a sigh—my trick to think it good enough—
Peppered to my private ones an audience of extremes
Mirror use,

But if I speak would they care to know?
Hot coffee burns at it goes down
Have I faced a punishment fit yet, now?

Tight-lipped utterances and across town
They should feel the coals alight, powerful.
My better sense—my heart now, too—

Tell me this is not , nor ever true
Forgive me please if I have a few
Forgive me no, never, oh!

Feel fate on me when I come
Red-eyed and gritted teeth, meaning well
Father, forgive, though God’s not here

For more than mine, shed hath tear
Leave me to my silence, pay penance will I here
And in maddened eyes I avert

Just know in time (to that uncertain) that I
That I will rectify—invoke Holy Mary to this,
My heathen heart.