The truth of pleasure denies the fort,
ridden with calluses from within;

where major parts delve and decay,
the shortness of breath hail and pray;

a lunar eclipse summarized the state,
through a prism I viewed within;

born and bred from shades of hate,
a town which made me contemplate;

from a square I saw it disintegrate,
it stretched and fit into my map;

where my eyes foresaw the illustration,
a candle burned into my imagination;

regressed to pain and made me amputate,
belligerently I fought the magistrate;

yet it seemed effortless,
a cubic cell of thorns and stings;
it enclosed itself onto my fate.

Structures in, blocks out;
a paradigm of constructional doubt,
lead and stone, rock and bone;
fragments of matter engraved in stone,
inorganic the linear path;
of buildings stretching from singular depth,
requiem of solid ground, blueprints regression and doubt;
symmetry combines the horizontal substance,
of eloquence and the working man’s cadence;
deranged and  abused, obtuse he lit the fuse,
when the seasonal drift destroyed his ruse;
decadent he stood and laughed,
with a pencil the scheme he graphed;
ticking the time, melting the clocks,
hourly sway where entropy sealed the lock.

In the wake of the sun's demise,
I've heard a voice a pleasant rustle;
from above it shook my center,
I didn't know from where to enter;
sudden spirals appear and entice,
egregiously surmise what I realize;
tender the tone of her whisper,
dispersing a hello a tongue twister;
her being floating through time and space,
never-mind it isn't the human race;
bulging depth of my eye's silhouette,
reciting an allegory with my last breath;
I shout and tremble over the horizon,
dignified I thought the cape of a bison;
a feather stuck inside my heart,
it flew and grew metastasizing the art;
of self reflection and painful visions,
she didn't know if it was given;
I threw my essence on the ground,
she didn't care if it was found;
found and lost a paradoxical state,
she couldn't see nor relate;
bestowed upon my deepest sorrows,
luminescence of charm and it follows;
it erupted inside our fragile minds,
a volcano filled with lost souls;
a gravedigger cementing the holes.

O’ festered a hand-brush painted chromatic scales;
Notes float through vibrations of abstracted melodies,
Deft fog foaming around the tellurian vessel,
A minor to blue sharply lifted;
Harmonically unlatched the gray mist settles.
Imprisoned valor inside the inland empire,
And the sounds depart;
The colors withdraw,
From the sheet of paper ripped inward
Left the fleck of sensory creation,
Without the ability to sense or smell,
Tell from where C major decomposed Vivaldi;
Monet surfed on a cloud of monads:
Functioning life colorless and dreary.
In and out the state-like dream awakes,
Confer to them with no substance,
or destination.
Written the symphony in-reverse canvases
Inside the dream the people gather, outside
Hasten the conclusion an incision made.
The mind a functor without real estate.

Flocks of a feather dwindling down the shore
Intimate formation of the aquatic glandular;
The Pisces swell to a shore far afloat,
Devoid of an island to cogitate,
Drifting on a rift a shipwreck in sight,
Tell me a story and let me hover over the sky.
Tragically devout to the milky seed;
Where dreams form and tragedies initiate.
The island further than before,
It seems distant:
A delusion, a fantasy of veins bursting,
Clouds surrounding the positional shift.
Long ago it didn’t fit or obfuscate;
Existence in its devotion to factitious elation.
The clouds unveil an island,
Sail, sail on to reach the riverbank,
It illuminates the twilight of tenebrosity;
There, a vacuous backdrop.