Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy. In this séance with the immaterial realm of concept rather than the predictable clockwork reductivism of a perceptual welter that is limited by the concretism circumscribed by spatiotemporal stricture we find that an extravagant twinge of even the smallest tocsin in the interstitial carousel of conscientious subroutines compounding recursively to pinprick the cossetted smolder of potentiality rather than extravagate into the vacancy of untenanted nullibiety can spawn a progeny of utilities and vehicles for dexterous abstraction that poach the exotic concepts we fathom by degrees of sapience malingering in lifeless bricolages of erratic abstraction in manners useful to transcend the repose of abeyance and heave awakening into the slumberous caverns of still-life to make them dynamically animated to capture ephemeral events that defy the demarcations of wistful indelicacy of the encumbered bulk of insufficient precision.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience. Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber. Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation. This basic interface with the world can either be mercurial or tranquil based on the interactionism of the enfeebled trudge of surface senses or blunt intuitions and the smoldering impact of the vestigial cloaks that deal gingerly with the poignant subtext evoked in the cauldron of immediacy rather than pondered with the portentous weight of imperative singularities of uniqueness derived from the plunge into the arcane citadel of microscopic introspection so refined that the ineffable drives we seek to fathom become amenable to the traipse of transcendental time that rarefies itself by defying the brunt of compartmentalized bureaucracies administered by the fulcrum of stereotypical notions of acquired gravitas imputed to mundane pedestrian quidnunc concerns that defile humanity rather than embolden the subaudition of gritty punctilios that show the supernal powers of the axiomatic divinity of sharpened sentience to reign with supremacy over the baser ignoble components of bletcherous nescience that leads to knee-**** platitudes that provoke folksy peevish divisions. We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. Obviously a growth mindset is the galvanic ****** that spawns the imaginative swank of the pliable modulations of our perceived reality that, when protean, showcase the limitless verve of our primordial cacoethes for epigenetic evolution rather than the stolid and staid foreclosure of impervious sloth that memorializes the gluttony of speculation about fixed entities rather than imperative jostling urbanity that dignifies the brackish dance with dearth and the exuberant savory taste of momentary excess because it engages the animated pursuit of limerence rather than the exhumed corpse of wistful regret. Nature is a cyclical clockwork system of predatory instinct met with the clemency of the prosperous providence enacted by the travailing ingenuity of successive cumulative generativities that compounded unevenly and unpredictably to predicate a fundamental zeitgeist calculated to engorge the fattened resources of the resourceful and temper the etiolated dreams of the fringed acquiescence of a hulking prejudiced population of dutiful servants that balk at the diminutive prospects of a lopsided distribution of talent and means but slumber in irenic resolve created by the merciful hands of defensive designs that configure consciousness to relish comparative touchstones rather than absolute outcomes that straggle beyond a point of enviable reference to shield the world of the barbarism of botched laments clamoring for an uncertain grave from the gravity of the orbiting satellites of apportioned wealth both sunblind and boorish but simultaneously inextricable from the acclimated fortune of heaped nepotism and herculean opportunism. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery. We need to traduce the urchins that sting the system with pangs of opprobrious ballyhoo and the effluvia of foofaraw that contaminate with pettifoggery and small-minded blather the arenas better suited for the gladiatorial combat of cockalorums tinged with a dose of intellectual effrontery beyond the span of dogmatism rather than the hackneyed platitudes that infest the news cycle with folksy backwardation catered to the fascism of a checkered established press that urges insurrection while tranquilizing dissent against the furtive actions of consequence hidden behind the draped verdure of pretense whose byproduct is only a self-referential sophistry that swarms like an intractable itch to devolve the spectator into a pasquinaded spectacle of profound human obtuseness that pervades malignantly the system of debate until the reductionists outwit themselves with the empty prevarication of circular logic that deliberately misfires to miss the target of true importance because of the pandered black hole easily evaded by creatures of high sentience but inevitably ensnaring the special kind of dupe into a cycle of bellicose ferocity of internecine balkanization. The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity. I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization. When we analyze the gradients of anger, for example, we can either be ****** into a brooded twinge of wistful resentment or we can decipher that through heuristics designed to cloister the provenance of subconscious repose with ignorance there exists a regimented array of tangential accessories embedded deep within the cavernous repository of memory that designates a cumulative trace of compounded symmetries of concordant experience immediately perceptible because of the tangible provocateur of our gripes and the largely subliminal tusk that protrudes because of primal instinct that squirms with peevishness because of the momentary context preceded by the desultory churn of smoldering associations swimming with either complete intangible sputtered mobility through the tract of subconscious hyperspace or rigidly fixated by an arraignment of circumstances with propinquity to the deep unfathomed flicker of bygones receding or protruding because of the warped and largely unpredictable rigmarole of constellated spreading activation.  
When we examine the largesse of the swift recourse of convenience we forget by degrees the travail that once bridged the span of experience from patient abeyance in provident pursuit to now the importunate glare of inflated expectations for immediacy that stings the whole enterprise of societal dynamics because it vitiates us with a complacency for the filigrees of momentary tinsel of a virtualized reality divorced from the concretism that used to undergird interaction and now stands outmoded as a wisp beyond outstretched hands straggling beyond the black mirror of a newfangled narcissistic clannishness that shepherds the ostentation of conceit to a predominant position that swaddles us with fretful diversion that operates on a warped logic of lurid squalor and pasty trends becoming the mainstays of a hypercritical linguistic system of entrapment based on the apostasy of candor for the propitiation of fringed aberration because of the majoritarian uproar about touchy butthurt pedantic criticasters with a penchant for persnickety structuralism. With the infestation of entertainment with the ubiquitous political cavils engineered by the ruling class to have a common arena of waggish irreverence we forget that sometimes the impetuous ****** of propaganda is cloaked by the fashionable implements of a rootless time writhing in a purported identity crisis only to gawk at the ungainly reflection of modernity in the mirror and remain blissfully unaware about the transmogrified cultural psyche that feeds the lunacy of endless spectacle based on the premise that one singular whipping post can unite an entire generation of miscegenated misfits looking for commonality to team up against the aging generations that cling to the sanctity of cherished jingoism against the intentionality of a revamped system that malingers with empty promises using exigency and legerdemain to obscure the mooncalves among their ranks that march on with quixotic dreams that tolerate only the idea of absolute tolerance and moderate only when feasibly permitted by the anchored negotiation of the fulcrum of totemic governmental responsibility between factions that wage volleys of invective at each other to promote a binary choice of vitiated compromises of mendaciloquence that ultimately endanger the republic with either the perils of hidebound conventionalism and nativist fervor or the boondoggles of fiscally irresponsible insanity cloaked with rainbows and participation trophies. Reproach can be distributed to both sides of the aisle because ironically in a world where gender is non-binary the most important reproductive ***** in the free world is a binary-by-default despotism that polarizes extremely ludic fantasies on the left met with the acrimony of the traditionalisms on the right that staunchly resist the fatuous confusions of delegated order only to the sharp rebuke of the revamped political vogue that owes its sustenance to a manufactured diplomacy of saccharine lies and ubiquitous lampoons that are lopsided in the direction of a globalist neoliberal bricolage of moderately popular buzzwords and the trojan horse of insubordinate flippant feminism that seeks to subvert through backhanded manipulation the patriarchy so many resent using lowbrow tactics and poignant case studies rather than legislating the egalitarian system into law using the proper channels. I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent. Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.

I'm half in love with you
And I'm half in love with him
But this story twines two ways
So where do I begin?
I knew you first
Loved him later
Emotion, confusion
Is this fate or
Something else,
To consider
Because my heart won't belong
To random bidders
I know this is cheesy
And probably cliché
But I need to find some sense
In all this fray
So bear with my confusion,
And my state of mind
I hope only for love,
And one not unkind

Of immaterial vision birthed in mind.
Of spirit annihilating the selves,
of calling it plan. The one-
a semblance scattered on deck space
refracts on reflections of the reactions of tokens
of the carnivalesque,
of the hunger artists,
of phenomenon-
which may or may not exist depending on reflective surface of the true self,
of the motion of tides,
mocks motion in body,
of obsession.
The tonality of the "be" and the "is" and the "will be" is deafened by the "I am,"
by the Ohm.

Of shuddering and implanting embraces,
of blessing on every ember of cleanliness that is true self,
of the oneself that exists above selective memory,
not draft of time arrow but the material existence of dream,
not disembodied but embodied.
Of breeding,
of circumstance and forking fourth dimension prison terms,
of crowd control,
of she wolves and their feral children,
of forceps interpolating material reality of conception,
of Dreamtime,
of pain,
of pleasure,
where they are relations-
of skin perversely hanging, dually,
gratifying and sullying-
Fraying beautiful disasters that react to invisible ripples

I, the oneself, implore you to awaken in your utility and then outside of it.
Take those boot straps and bend the bars of confinement with them.
Chisel and sculpt light into a fabrication of quantum of action.
Celebrate the ordinary and expose it.

Of stargazed caustics,
of the early universe.
I stand awake as not the expression of design
and no longer connected to Earth by my roots
but awake inside cocoon,
entrapped behind slits,
of alien cage otherness.
The Akh beseeches ownership of the Ba
I want play dice with god and end in draw.
I am Sekhmet-Wadjet who dwells in the west of heaven,
I am Sahyt among the souls of Of.

A distant man with distant heart

Kept her, a fallen Angel, in a cage

Never would he let her be seen

But every night he visited her

Entranced by her naked beauty



Fallen from grace I now linger

Utterly spellbound by my captor

Veiled, remaining in the shadows

Untouchable – Quite vulnerable

Entangled, I shall never break free



Her thoughts within his head

He wants to take her, desire her

But afraid to surrender to lust

Always watching her, needing her

This dark Angel of hidden mystery



Clueless I am where this will lead

I can feel from afar a deep longing

Yet, I am mystified with every move

Hoping for a sign to appease my soul

To not have fallen from grace in vain



Oh, how I wish to know his thoughts

If it is not at all a dream within a dream

On the edge I now stand – so insecure

As I tread these waters ever so lightly

Frightened to awaken to a harsh reality



No longer can he resist the urge

Opening the cage and takes her

She does not resist, welcomes him

He penetrates deep into her soul

Both lost in the art of experimentation

She takes all he gives and wants more



Over and over again, they have their way

Never has she surrendered before like this

He cannot match to her satisfaction

As he fears her, the Angel of Death

Knowing she will never age, never die



He knows she longs to keep her

Wanted her forbidden lover,

these emotions are unexpected

He will always be her temptation,

now he leaves but forgets to lock the cage



Never in my darkest of desires did I dare,

surrender in total abandonment of my soul

I long for more, but my captor now eludes me

Should I escape, there shall be no going back

So here, I linger awaiting his return in my arms…



II



In the darkest of my secret desires
It becomes unsettling as time passes
The silence of these days and nights
As I wait, longing for my beloved


I become lost, in a loving memory
Yearning to become alive anew
As only, he can touch my soul
Ever so profoundly, in every touch
Soaring in abandonment – awakened


I cannot envision a life without love
Since the day I have fallen from grace
I was dually blessed and then cursed
As I am alone in the mind’s memoirs
Awaiting the break of unbearable silence


Years have passed him by
His youth seems fading away
Still she is as fresh as before
From the first moment he captured her
Now he watches her from the shadows

Remembers the sweet feel of her flesh,
the sensation of her kisses of nectar
He never locked the cage, she stayed
She yearns for him each and every night
But now he finds himself too afraid

For he is only mortal, she is Eternal
An Angel of Death fallen in love
If only he dared to approach her
Take her now in a fury of lust,
could she still crave this withered shell?


Penetrating the stillness of the night
I can hear a voice, long thought astray
I can feel the blood pulsating in my veins
As I cry out for my beloved to come anew
Even as times passes, nothing has changed


Though my wings have has been clipped
As I had fallen into forbidden temptation
I remain the same, though he has now aged
I care naught for appearances, as in my eyes
It is the pureness of his heart, which lures me


I cannot help but wonder where he dwells
Grasping unto faith, that he shall return
Accepting, with no remorse of what was
Surrendering to this love, I so freely offer
United as one being, forever without end


He dares to approach her once again
Long ago he felt no love in his soul
But she has changed how he once was
An ancient naked body, he now offers
To this beauty that smiles to welcome him


He responds to the gentle touches she gives
Feeling like a young man again, once more
Lovers in this night of forgotten shadows,
daring to surrender to desires of the flesh
Allowing two hearts to be now, as one


Then he feels the agony within his chest
Age has taken a toll for a moment to cherish
He holds her as she trembles, knowing
The last thing he sees are an Angels tears
As in the final moments, he dies in her arms


After waiting for so long, it seems cruel
Befalling such heartfelt sorrow, losing
Once again my beloved, as destiny rules
Fallen from grace, atonement must be paid
Pleading now for redemption for my sins


I know there is no going back to paradise
As I have found heaven, here earthbound
It is now within my power, to make amends
Bestowing my love upon those in dire need
Finding peace in the light of loves true gift


A state of a higher power that takes hold
Ruling now these days, that comes forth
Nevermore in the darkest of my desires,
as I find the strength within to arise anew
In moving on, with all of my heart and soul


Copyright © 1/2013 Lucy Martins/Chris Smith

All poetry by Lucy Martins/Chris Smith are copyright protected by International Copyright Law, the use without written permission is illegal. All Rights Reserved ©

Simplicity in life
Is something I look for
Hardly found, dually noted

In thought and mind
of a life I can not find
visions of freedom
stay in my mind

as I lay the tracks of my past
They away then turn, from my districted ways

Simplicity I look for
Simplicity I must find

This train of thought
Called contentment
I must find

Free to fail like leaves in winter
His love will only sometimes linger
Like the fall of lovers crush
She'll win them all bare ly out of touch
Held together like ink to paper
Blurred into memory or a colorful sublime
These tears fell like wood forests hole punched and lined
Like a Lamp lit nightstand useful twice a month
Clandestin calamity chorus of wind chimes
Composed
Dually noted measured and fallen in time
Conceived  
Dear John's pinned on porcelain; pined
Convexity
Leafs seasoned in carved tree vellum
Divined
Like dried roses smoke & mirrors the mind

Watch from your fancy TV screen -
Hypnotized
as your illusions of choice atrophy
A trophy, at your feet
Conceived in rage
From the place where miracles abound

The Eschaton will Immanentize
Dark energy entities
emanating from every corner all around
Hi - Def Surround Sound

Hide - Death Surrounds Hounds
It will bring you to your knees
When the Earth and all its Majesty
Crumble at the hands of the One-Eyed Messiah
The one I despise
You are all deceived

And to him they will scream
"Save Us"
Disenchantment following
Falling victim to his folly;
False exalted flesh reveres no seer
Neither those seared by his imprint

The prevelance of his contrivance
an resemblance of penance
for lack of repentance

And I'll cry to the sky
For the impending hour is nigh
And all things will seem unreal
Perchance a dream

When the duality is truly realized
The wailing and lament
of innumerable disembodied voices
will dually harmonize

The masses will chant
Praying for requiem
And then duly perish
Silhouettes
Pendulously suspended by strings

A breath of the highest grade,
Destiny coming taylor made,
The pursuit is gradual,
And the path is magical,
Sick and tired of being tired and sick,
Just holding on while i'm getting a grip,
So close we can taste it,
Consciousness is the latest,
Society ringing in my ear drums,
They won't pay attention so we had to steal some,
What's the course but if not to know,
But to smell, but to hear, but to touch, but to grow,
Tip toeing down this wondrous junction,
Of fundemental simple dysfunction,
Frame by frame we watch through this movie,
Walks in the rains have been noted dually,
Grief should probably bother me more then it does,
Staying positive like it's the only choice that there was,
Impartial thinking to what transpires,
Set backs open opportunity to Inquire,
Expression manifests through tribulations,
The spring has dawned on this hibernation,
"What's the word?" We cry out in fear,
The end has gone the beginning is near.

My room

                                              is a work of art

on the unvacuumed           canvas

lies heaps

of U.C.S's

(unidentified clusters of                ****)

heaps                                   ­           that are only destroyed

during nights             ...                                 ...                                     .. .    .  .

that are fueled with       anxiety

or

just pu re
                    r
                   
                                      estles snes s  .

These imperfect     shapes

scattered

in comforting patterns

my          compiled life

in pieces   .

But I'm st ill restless.

The artist

is

never truly satisfied with

her

work

the mes s of          my                     life

tossed comfor tably to the ground

until i am provoked by                       ...                              ...               .. .

...

Each Article

I nd i v i dually held

Set    in   place

Stumb

                                               ling upon

Lost object  s       ... .             .

forgotten   fabrics that

held you unquestionably.

a nostaliga

art

revealing things

you were probably already looking for .

Taking your life was the most selfish and selfless thing I have ever done and will ever do. Oliver and I, we shared the mutual consensus that no one in the world had ever loved us as much as we loved each other. Moreover, we understood one another; we shared the commonalty of unstable upbringings, of neglect, and most pertinently, of loneliness.

We’d dually been abused, rejected, and abandoned by those who were supposed to be our caretakers and guardians and parents. Perhaps, that in itself was how we’d grown such an indestructible bond.

And yet.

I saw a glint of a monster inside of you. The previous night. A manifestation of the horrors you’d faced, suddenly channeled through you. From that moment onward, I began to understand the truth. All of the anguish you’d survived may one day define you. One day, the innocence would be gone and in its place, the product of your childhood would be born.

On the last morning of your life, who you were, was living proof of good. Proof that a person could exist so pure, and kind to the very core. The best and most honorable person in my life. The only friend I’d ever known. I wanted to preserve your memory; a perfect relic, never to be tainted by the evil which would one day consume you.

I knew that as you lived, you were the only entity I’d felt genuine compassion for. The only human I’d ever loved. The only person in the whole world who could ever hurt me. That vulnerability ran like
poison through my logic.

And so, I resolved.

when a pronoun retracts
and becomes compounded
e.g.: itself, himself...
it complicates matters
with a dually functioning vigor
of content expression:
which extends thanks to the
surgical assertion that the
definite aritlce (scalpel)
and indefinite article (forceps)
proceed to govern
a. retractive pronoun usage
    within compounding
    is reflexive (reflex bias)
and
b. pronouns given unto punctuation
     markings are reflective,
     the notorious "i" of
     sartre's usage;
     in the poor sense of the word
     when expressed as mirror-image,
     since sarte's linear dittoing
     markings possess a narcissistic chiral
     exclusion of an active ownership of will
     that's simply a misuse of
     denotative marking -
     it would simply imply an orwellian
     conception of double-think, of
                         "
     what's
          "
                  actually defined via
                                                "
       thinking about it when orientated by gemini
       (i.e. the ditto markings
         imply a repeat,
         or simply - as above / follow suite.)

Up on the third
Floor
There is a place
Where everyone stands
Slain

The lame
Accept everything
The fighting
Nothing at all

They spread thin
Their wings
For the night is short
In the CET

And the way is swift
Make quick
Thy youthful fits
For much desired sights
For ****

As the clouds disperse
For seagulls above sand
Drift in spreading rhyme
Into our dear Lord's Hand

He doth not say that the right is wrong
Nor the choice you carry is attuned in song
We can laugh and yet we dually can cry

Make the life you carry
Never weigh you down to cry "FIE"

And as the wine is poured and your lover
Nods their head, clearly wanting more
Take no advice from the man coated
In ill suited grey and obvious vice

Your train will call for you
So all is fine
But until you meet that one
Who you know by sight
Who lets everything roll by
Like the deep faded night
You'll be rolling back and forth in your sleep
Wondering whose soul
You'll wake in the morning to keep

There is a riddle for every nickel
And there is a clue for every dime
Just make sure you got a friend
Who'll give you the chance
To tell you the time

Near dawn, no, near midnight
There was a hard luck story
That I wanted to stay up to hear

There was a man
There was a woman
A priest lay dead and naked
With a scribbled aged' sermon

His mouth lay laden his soul stirred cold
The memory within me reflected in a blur
And all that stood still
Was all that was to be told

A shiitake dreamer in séance here trust her hands of clouds
for she is one ready as Columbia whole
only she inhibit feelings, fear or wrath
with her kind of inclination found now might supplely bind hers
or daily bread shall dissolve her breath,
a ****** in sun dried tomatoes
fore dually her thought of heart leaving
mellow her wish with pleasure once again
that her kingdom bound where a prayer now her staple
with much to share allow her providence, today.

A ****** serenade to show me all your witches.
The lie that bites my eye and pulls apart the stitches.
Shes like a ****** gun half cocked on a loaded nun.
A feral infant left the instant she could see the sun.

While god herself grins in the face of my stability.
Woke up alone crying "where the hells Felicity?"
I'm just a fender-****** pretender makin the same mistakes.
Her music shakes and rattles snakes right between my legs.

We filled the mind so bloated as we floated feelin omnipotent.
The silent rhyme that stopped time and left the world corroded.
I had to cough and shake it off before we qualify to multiply.
Traded a moth for sloth but got caught by a butterfly.

Her heart beating, got me feeding and it stops the bleeding.
Deep throated, dually-noted as I start believing.

nobody has ever bothered
to pick me up
dust me off

run your fingers down my spine
everything will be alright

remove my cover
gaze beyond
view the chapters
in which my life has gone

memorize my pages
the good and the bad
remember the sufferings
and comforts had

highlight your favorite parts
sentences and stanzas
dually remarked

dog-ear the sections
you find yourself rereading
leave a bookmark, save your place
i’ll always be here waiting

lay me down
on your bedside
we’ll comfort each other
all throughout the night

wear the pages of my life
under your fingertip’s tread
remember the verses
imprint them in your mind
for when my ink is dead

Words are auspiciously chargeable, and none more so than dynamic.
One ought never find oneself to be compromising the feeling of seeing something
for the first time, the ambitions of a romantic imagination,
for the overtures of adulthood austerity. Nothing is as void, or
irredeemably defeated, as a desire to open oneself to holidays by the hour, open
only three times a year to the feeling of rich, warm neurological
flow of these feelings. But when you see it in someone, how do you let that someone
know what you think of them, and still be adult? Of course,
in repertory galleries and leafy city-outdoor sculpture museums,
at the bustling dinner tables of locomotive-speed European restaurants
and at times when liquid-crystal green glowing playlists
of sombre jiving guitars, drenched in wine, are most appropriate.
Thankfully, this way looks like a panel of canvas, broken up with obliques
of red. If not yet adult, I hope its playfulness will be enough; if poems are to be
dynamic like Juliette, then they need to learn to play, excitedly and secured.
  
In a fluorescent coffee cream glow of walls, in a Parisian
photography gallery I can’t say the name of— let alone
write—we are trapezing into Plossu’s dichromatic
vistas, leaning on the curb, the sand dune, and the rock.
You ask if I can hear the cicadas, the hum of Italian country in the heat;
when in this gallery, I could only hear the ultra incandescence of lights
percolating in the mezzanines, new clarity espousing with the knowledge
that Paris, and you, are both wonderful.

Yes it was when later, under a dousing of amber lamplight,
lying legs bent at the knee with poise, and their flurries we settled on a bedspread,
you stroking at the plexus curved round my libido, the cream top of two palettes,
me imaging brisk black leggings strolling gently over the tarmacadam,
the delta central to your collarbone and the breath from the valve in
your throat during a Latinate vowel.

Somewhere in this is included a constant sexuality and tempo, film reeled,
jazz drumming us on the back row of the theatre, touching for an instant,
noses, the distillation of character, and the glee with which
I can remember that Sheffield was good for an amble.
Somehow, lightly, we slept off modicums of speech platitudinising my fears;
and instead had pulses of an unfelt issue, which encouraged my
seeking of mythical and tautened realisations hereon.
The sound of your voice weaving reason was so nice, even the flyers
for life alterations didn’t turn up. (And they commonly do.)
Invariably first was your witticism and the red baubled trees,
hanging as the art lesson adventures of January children,
I was duly counselled on the court. And dually were your eyes,
obliquely there: sublime, looped, your irises were round, hypnotic,
like the bold city distilled in a noetic, emulsifying some trodden
exquisite foreground in the mind, the faint pathway of a childhood walk
wrapping me happy, and certainly pledging me warmth,
easily running a finger down the apex of my face in profile,
and pedalling breast stroke into expanses of memory pools,
dark hair tucked into a pink cap.

Should the memory continue to dive, meander and keep,
I would have it that it will usefully pacify me when I sleep.

Tied to the web of your bed
that lunges forth with a bite so hard
A loss is gained in those arms
a cold heat retreats to the
somber safety of our sheets

The past sings a song, fair and long
And I ask in silence
But directed with a truth so innocent
"am I the only one who hears it?"

You find my rare grace tempting
caught inside you with scissor legs
cornered against the fire of your best

Live in my bends forever like the lush moon so bright

The humming together-- a melody remembered,
Your doorway is a highway and a desert from
the webbed corner dually spun
"oh," your response comes loud,
Disruptive and volcanic
"I'm no exception
And neither are you"

And like a singed plume,
The running squalor of us,
the flames escape
And the heart moves away like walking
Alone, on concrete and inside a grey morning

It's a fresh start
When all things shine
The way
You thought they'd
Be

But most
Everything
Isn't
The way
You thought
They'd
Be

Make do
Adapt
Life is
As it is
From the bad
And the
Good choices
You've made.

Throw passion in there
And see
What kind of maelstrom
You
Create.

I've attended no
Meetings,
No press junkets,
No glamour parties,
No welcome farewell's,
Yet I've seen the faces of victors and
Loser's and they all
Seem
To say the same thing:

It's not enough.

What isn't?

This life.

This life
Isn't enough.

The crowd
Goes
Silent.

The mob
Grows
Tranquil.

The masses
Shift in shape into a
Congenial blob.

What do you mean

This life

Isn't the best
That

IT

Can be?

If the land were to give an answer it would say:
It is forever eroding to something better.

If the sea were to give a response it would whisper:
It's tide is forever cycling for something better.

If the wind were forced say something it would shrug:
When I will, I will and you will of course feel it.

If this life
Were not enough
There would be
No

Hope

For something better -

For you - for I - for her - for him - for everyone.

It is a strange fact
That we forget ourselves subconsciously
Thinking of all selves

Consciously.

Advancement.
Progression.
Betterment.

Thou­gh we see these things as personal gain, we must

Remember

That every small feat for human kind in our small time,
Dually affected by our travesties and faults in our small time,
Affect said future, either crippling their thoughts in hate or

Allowing their thoughts to flourish

In freedom.

Every cloud in the sky
Appears
From nothing.

Yet it is there.

I've seen wind pass through the leaves of tree,
Like ghosts fingers through a child's hair.
I see it - the physical passing - and I admire the invisible
Touching and transcending the physical.

I am no closer to anything
Then the one
Sitting next to me but,

I know something is missing.

Something is amiss.

We are too connected to believe that the grass on the other side
Is greener.

So we are affronted with the fact that there is no great trail
That leads to ultimate happiness;
There is no great land that leads to salvation;
And as the great HST stated: the false belief that someone greater
Is attending the light at the end of the tunnel.

Let us be our own saviors.

Let us be our own light.

Let us be us with the trials and tribulations of the past but not affecting our said goals with injustice or prejudice or hate, but with unity.

Unity.

The fuse is lit, wrapped against your wrists
Prisoner of freedom, prisoner of ****.
Grip dissident fists, slip, and miss the government.
An insignificant kiss across unfeeling skin,
Desensitized to the reeling of our unified minds
The serpent, the centipede that dually writhe inside,
Left and right, tickling spite to erupt in minacious laughter
As the herd move along our prayers slither into the slaughter.
Plastered proclamations and pinned ignorance:
“I voted for a puppet” but who’s the ventriloquist?

-SLuR

I am D.D. of Forever
dually desired
In mansions made of crystal
I gesture gorgeously with
Fingers to lips and mouths
I am one of many
Beautiful
Bashful
Ghoulish
Garish
Flaring
Flaming
Life-savin­g magicians of endless forevers
Sunken inside my brain
Seeking to share shorn madnesses
So far away from here

I am D.D. of Forever
Dually Desired
And just one of three
If you can guess where I stand
I will meet you there
On the island of The Ancients
Safe and Safe and Sounding
So fine

"I didn't mean to ignore you" she said both genuinely and proudly.

Dually proud.
One, for her ability to evoke emotion in him, through her simple act of nothing.
And two, that it had been so very 'nothing' to her, that she very genuinely didn't know she was doing this act of nothing.

Ignorance, ignoring...
What’s the difference?
She was innocent.

Regardless, she moved through the circumstance
Something like a maverick
Cunning her way in and out of his heart...

Stitching it up,
a poor repair,
one that was soon to rupture again
surely worse next time.

But the remedy consoled him
And imagining her essence
hazily around him,
he fell into a dreamy slumber...

Until the next time she awoke him
with her jolting and revolting
Chilling and thrilling
Weary, weary...

Nothing.

Are space and time much too similar,
  and maybe in the end exactly the same

Our angle of perception the only difference,
  keeping them separate and dually named
  
If they are distinct where is their departure,
  does its sensing begin and end with us

Or is all we see just darker matter,
  and in verse—the only thing we trust

(Wayne Pennsylvania: May, 2019)