1346

As Summer into Autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
“The Summer” than “the Autumn,” lest
We turn the sun away,

And almost count it an Affront
The presence to concede
Of one however lovely, not
The one that we have loved—

So we evade the charge of Years
On one attempting shy
The Circumvention of the Shaft
Of Life’s Declivity.

I always wanted to be that random style of writer
Writing about things which have no connection
In reality but they are connective only by the ingenuity
Of his genuflection; the circumvention of his
Circuitous routing, his plaintive perturbing petulance
Which insists on stacking things of different orders
Flying birds together of different species
If I could write something of the ticking of clocks
Not as though the ticking were of premeditated duration
Embedded in metal tracks around perimeters
Of prevaricated die-cast hours; but as though the ticking
Were only a random fixture of a theoretical day
In which random clocks ticking played a minor role
During the still life of which a poet happened along
And copied it all down dutifully, not caring if
Ticking clocks were related to pitchers of Forsythia
Or falling off of cliffs into the Aegean;
The only task of the poet to capture it all
And let the reader sort it out later
In the random tracks of his circuitous brain:
Whether the pitcher was full of sea
Or the sea was stealing into the pitcher
One blue, serendipitous drop at a time
And where no clocks were keeping time.

Whirlwind, claws out, air piercing precision
Listen to the howl, a fast recognition

Unleashed, breaking point, adrenaline taking to affect
Not hard to direct yet reason in mind isn't easy to collect

Juggernaut effect neglecting obstacles and environment
a trail of awaiting riders to Hades left after onslaught engagement

Circumvention dies away once the fury comes and so do they
Red sight, Blind fight, no feeling til' the end of prey

awoken after feral blaze
setting eyes upon with astounding gaze

a look into the beast inside
suppressed for worth of glory's height

An inner peace attained, neglecting the vice
The obscurity in plain and open sight

Damage done, no turning back
The wolverine's sun setting and fading with his tracks

You unwrapped my blind fold
I could only see this mess of deconstructed bones
The smog filled my bleeding nostrils
I gasped to know the truth of a world rotating in circumvention

Tangents of humiliation
A crab crawls back into its used receptacle
It does not have to face the uneven shadows
Fairy wings brittle and break

The ashes of frightened unicorns
Paths off way far into the emasculated jungle
Hidden silences wielded in your depth
Machines and paper plates

The trees of battered car horns and biohazard bags
The stereotypical infantile jungle world  
Without the echoes of the children you never should have had

Mary prostitutes herself on the corner
The Holy Ghost burns unnoticed

Please let us go back to a time
When we could sit still without retrograding voices
Telling us to progress and revolve
We can no longer feel awesomed in the presence of a structural anomaly

One that had never lived or breathed
Or failed
We were on the verge of a revolution
Before they took our fairytales away

The myths were replaced with shear and utter disgust
For the entire human community
Let us retreat to the forest of Incas and attack dogs
For we can not have a revolution of one.

Softly curving slopping
Rounding curving softly
Oh the firm plump softness
I could tell you
You could listen
Of how it causes deep flames to interrupt
Or of how, how...
How I lost my focus
I could tell you
Or you can witness

Two pale beauties dance
Two cherub's cheeks
They make the whole
The creamy moon
I'd bury my face in its bounty
I'd devour its ample sustinance
I want it
But to obtain
That would require a little circumvention
And face to face conversation

Sleep always wins the war.
The dead never rise,
The living always sink
Into the darkness.

Lethargy succumbs to nothing,
And no matter the struggle,
There is no circumvention of sleep.
No evasion of death.

We all end the same.

men espousing creation,
the creator,
perfect love infinite mercy
a proclamation—vowing to
adhere to the likeness
in which they were fashioned.
so much faith–so much
cruelty.
creatures wearing blindfolds of scripture
justify deeds so appalling in nature,
contradict the wisdom they
promised to preach;
hypocrisy absent its recognizing.

affirming a dusty word’s preserve,
the honesty,
only the deceit of men do they serve,
failing in discerning
the message of spirit secured
in the hearts of those who seek knowing—
impervious to them who
hound to be dominating.

perpetual fear taught by
people with piety painted inner sight shutters,
their words—
plumes of smoke to obscure their own
heart’s flutter.
a terror of
free thought and consideration,
freedom from labels, dogma and doctrine—
the circumvention
of thumbs meant to pin men
to the curse of subjection.

the deduction of right,
appearing an impossible task amidst
an endless sea of polluted virtue.
by the exam of everything so diligent,
the multitudes of faith and
them gripping absence,
might symbiosis prove true—a
mosaic of liquefaction's perfection
in a world where everything is permissible
but not everything beneficial.

Social Anxiety
 
I think love is a lot like us.
In truth, it's hard.
At least for me. To reach into my heart and pull each thought
Like some sort of note, to resort to the most simplistic of notion.
It all seems so simple.
To walk up towards the one we love and tell them how we truly feel.
At least for me.
To be honest I don't think it's entirely the thought of being rejected.
But the actual declaration and the realization that everything that you hope and dream
stares back at you and it's not reciprocated where imagination meets reality.
At least for me.
Reaching back into my heart and scrambling around for another note.
The small things in an ocean of thought that could go wrong.
The sudden rush of thoughts that prevent such circumvention.
The first step of telling you that I love you.
At least for me.
Seeing your face again, makes it so much easier.
Knowing that you would never let me drown

For those who want to loved but have been tired to be afflicted;
Who have been longing so long, but ended pathetically;
Who have always been being hurt , but heart wouldn't be tired to bear it,

Being aware, that the end of each apologue is neither sweet as fairytale nor embodied as lyrics of love songs.
Trying to negotiate with genuineness of the world and never finding any sorrow for falling in love again.
Is it alone facade or naivety of lovers?
Or could it be a circumvention for an old ballad?
Coffee will remain to be bitter as before, despite thou addest thy tears within.
Rain will remain to fall, even though thou cravest it to stop.
And memoir will be framed in the pasts with beloved.

*''Nevertheless will the love stay the same although thou play'dst with it again?''

Sad reflections from
donated dreams.
Charity's
fallen embers.
Like a high UV index
they burn right into
your skin.
Freckling
your thoughts with a bit of compromise.

Close your eyes
to the possibility
inertia
has made itself at home.
You'll feel it, feel it
right to the bone.
But you crossed that bridge
long ago.
In the time of
tranquil misgivings.
You gave consent to
sin by offering up
your sons and daughters.
Drowning them
in the shallow end of dissipated water.

Sing hymns
all you like.
Piety
is not for sale.
And the angel light
that hits the wall
is not in the shape of Mary.
Evil always figures into
these things.
Don't you know? Heat rises. Blood falls.

So burn your prayers
on a stick. Roast them
in the campfire. You'll never turn
to God until you lie
dying. Broken and heaving.
Asking for forgiveness.
Which a man of cloth
will grant.
Such a charmed life to leave.

Only it's a cheat.
A spoonful
of circumvention.
Making you feel
warm and clever
as you bleed out. Regrettably,
your vacuous heart
sailed off on the Greta Garbo
and mortgaged
your future for such marquee.
Banking on the
here and now.
From this there can be no redemption.

Untruth churns in depths of elden castings
Falsehood turns the pacings, everlasting
Duplicity in everything avasting

Misinformation station
Take a ticket, wait, debate,
Assail, avail in love of liar's nation

Circuitous circumvention
Of mindful morsels of intention
Swept beneath the rug
No worth be mentioned

As suffering and death explain
The qualms and qualities
Of life beget to life in vain
Entrenched in their dualities

Thine incision thought deranged
Transcribed in abnormality
The pointed lance, in hands estranged
Whence masking actuality

So stir the *** of melting
For it may cool and thence congeal
It seems we're strung about and welting
Punished in penchant to feel

Knowing all too well that my flesh is weak,
I have to steel my mind against its proclivities
and ravenous inclinations, 

embracing the necessity of the tyranny 
of my conscience by the Spirit of God,
I pray the circumvention of 
my succulent tempestuous desires,

taking every vain imagination captive,
subjecting them to the will of-
Christ our Savior,

else my murderous heart of depravity, 
given opportunity, would devour-
even my eternal soul

I remember the day I came to meet you for the first time in early August,
I remember being invited back at least once every week for two and a half months,
I remember the special look you gave me and what it meant,
I remember how you sought human contact around me and how you acted henceforth,
I remember the awkward sliding beneath my legs and how it became a norm,
I remember the unrelenting clinginess that I so desired,
I remember you grabbing me by the arm and taking me somewhere nobody could find us,
I remember the moistness of your lips against mine,
I remember the full weight of your body on mine as you nestled against me,
I remember the regret you felt,
I remember the regret i felt once I perceived your shame,
I remember the persistent, yet subtle avoidance,
And I still come across your circumvention resulting in mass amounts of pain to this day.

Wisdom & the heart.

Feeble eyed I watched and saw you bleed,
Now the circumvention confronts me each day.
The mountain could free me from my mind,
But my brothers do not need that.

Pacing distracts me from my grief,
But with peace, along it comes.
Free advice is like profound,
Because there isn't much to hold on to, for the dispossessed.

To time indefinite, words proposed.
A-teams, they lose to.
Free advice is like profound,
But faith was all there was before the leap.

A dime for your time, the wasted prospect of years,
Of which the value continues to decay.
A dream would it be, to mend what is broken.
Wisdom to repurchase the future, from this emotion.

Hi praise from a genius.
Interveniusly fed from the heavens.
Birth of concept directed as a gift
Of immaculate conception.
Weapons of an angel.
Death and life in direction of travelling passengers
On a raft in river of
Deliverance from ****** repression.
****** suspension.
Chemical intervention. Medication meant to be a super natural circumvention. Of a dramatic urge to ****** sessions with **** men and .
And I'm a menace. With a compass pointing north like magnetic attraction to a hardened compression
of gravity in the pants of attraction in a storm of upwards direction known as your skyward awakened sacred *******.
And I'm going south with plans of making my face take southward facing face plant
A face cant.
Take that.
Make me decorate my place with fake plants
A baby with a fate that.
A man that grows apussy cant ******* make that.
Following gods naked granted word
Promise that a baby
Is promised.
Like a slate that.
Cant clean
Itself. Like jesus needs to save that which
Is depraved inside my nature a
Way of naked anger
Attempting perfection
With a worthless self appraisal
My name that
Needs saving and re decorating
In a place of carpets draped
On windows
In the light. Where the saints dance
And the devil waits to take that
Which cant protect
Its life I took for granted
Need to stand in
Saving grace
The light that fades
From mystic music
Cascading
From her hair and face and
Her smile great like
God inside the depths of hell
Shining light in darkness
With compassion
For the fate of which
Was elaborately persuaded
To abandon sacred ashes
while jesus dusts the grey ants from my dusty plant which
Smells like eminem kanye and jay z
Diamond eyes. A mind of detention
Crime of perfection
With genius mention
For the sentence
***** is a craving. That leaves me weapon less and unprotected
An urge to get pregnant
While imspeaking of future intentions
I should avoid my hatred
Of self expression
I should forgive
My pseudo intellect
And goof like intentions
**** I **** I say all thisshit
But cant break my body
In the alottedtime
Not pragmatic
*** I'm tempered like a serrated blade.
And worthless with a great chance
To face agrave.
Of shallow grief speaking of a reach from Angel's breaking bread with words that make that
Mission
Like s vision
Of envisioning
A great plan
Prophetic
Eradicating
Drakes laugh
From my gay half
Laughing like I'm cisgendered
Not a gay man
Or a Jays fan
Break leg fam
You fake glam
**** fan
I'll shave my legs
And drape your legs with my ankles
Breaking bones
As I wind up on your face champ
So ******* break dance
Kick it like a karate
Break my body like
A babe lamb
Bones are inventions
Of a name
A single world that makes me think
I'm ******* great and
Than people speak of changes
Like a fate of
Slated fake plants
I honestly believe
I'm going to conceive
A baby from a great man
But the tragic truth remains
Imdeluded. Polluted conclusion
Undoing of pursuing my inner truth
Like serial killers pursue
A cell in Arkham county
But there too smart to take a g

Recession of evil
The people develope the feels on the earth now
For my dimensional
Circumvention of real...
Like the earth round...
And im a circle it...
I'm certainly down



But further in the reaches of a terminal bond...
We die together forever.. the vision of mercy streak blonde
Lives on... after the sheets are washed
And the feelings are gone...
I'm not really a blonde.
Bleach is a compound beneath
Titanium iron and adamantium claws...
*** im tight ain't um ironic like a mutant with no memory..
An inventory... of perpetual healing
The scars. But never revealing feelings at all..
Like does marvel get more complex. Or does wolverine. Got the pain
Of seeing it all... and not feeling at all...
No human being could be beaten this bad for so long.