1.
Let us take the world we see and construct
a relatively yellow alternative.
Apprehend ambiguous sunsets,
And sink into the pavement of the paper.
I cannot and will not be amazed. By
the glass, But become a fragment of it.
Be eaten by its watery presence.
A fragile door shutting upon a finger.
2.
Horror fails to ferment in silhouettes
Concealed by plasticine despair.
Etched upon the hands
Of detailed
Manipulations of light.
Devices driving devotion to
Fragmentation of
Scattering. Extracting
Photons of feeling.
The city screams its insolence,
At a street too small to house the
Dead eyes walking.
Remnants,
Of ambient echoes
Across a galaxy of glass.
3.
Urban spring falls upon the blanket of night.
Stability leaks from the stained glass city.
Deceased blossoms mark
A realm of unsettling perfection,
Just beyond the threshold
of an urban inferno.
Mechanical coaxation of
Rectangular prism lives within
The confines of light.
This is a false stone hell, it says.
As ancient facets of souls scatter
The waste of a low mass star.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
1.
Let us take the world we see and construct
a relatively yellow alternative.
Apprehend ambiguous sunsets,
And sink into the pavement of the paper.
I cannot and will not be amazed. By
the glass, But become a fragment of it.
Be eaten by its watery presence.
A fragile door shutting upon a finger.
2.
Horror fails to ferment in silhouettes
Concealed by plasticine despair.
Etched upon the hands
Of detailed
Manipulations of light.
Devices driving devotion to
Fragmentation of
Scattering. Extracting
Photons of feeling.
The city screams its insolence,
At a street too small to house the
Dead eyes walking.
Remnants,
Of ambient echoes
Across a galaxy of glass.
3.
Urban spring falls upon the blanket of night.
Stability leaks from the stained glass city.
Deceased blossoms mark
A realm of unsettling perfection,
Just beyond the threshold
of an urban inferno.
Mechanical coaxation of
Rectangular prism lives within
The confines of light.
This is a false stone hell, it says.
As ancient facets of souls scatter
The waste of a low mass star.
Request permission to use this poem