Another chance
Night sky resurrection 
Bruise then
Soothes 

You choose 
Through whisky blues
Cheap tattoos 

Busy streets
Teeming life grooves
To strange beats
Existential speakeasies 
Proves
Electric existence
Is Heavenly

A strange bohemia
Resounds, crowns
Road side cafes
Girls with belly 
Button rings,
Sing
In different hues
Multicolored moods

Hipsters, weirdos,
Freaksters
Congregate in this
Urban delight
Torn jeans, 
Worn boots
Christmas lights hang 
From baristas roof

Eclectically surreal
Is how I feel 
Cars passing by
Intermingle
I drop my dime
And head on
To my next
Crawl

An oracle possessed by a spirit disquieted,
                                   he contains a world unknown even to himself,
a poem gets written by itself, within himself,
                                     organizing material eclectically on its own
from roots to crust, essence of experiences,
                                    mingle with hopes, fears and yearnings,
creating alloys of emotions, welding words to mean different,
                                     fixing formations and evocative images,
when he stops contended, unfinished yet, many parts in dark still,
                               then the readers get themselves invited in to the thickets,
disentangle the vines, make way through the foliage thick,
                 hanging  branches and twigs,  light falls in the darkened corners,
the poet and creator, the oracle himself, sits looking at the flowers and fruits
                                 bathed in a new light, on what the subconscious spoke,
when he listens,  the singing of the birds acquires new meaning,
                                  sound of the running brook has a rhythm not familiar,
that take him to the sea, where all end in a swim, like in a dream

There once was a TV network
That made me want to exult
But now I am sad and despondent
And it’s mostly Steven Moffat’s fault

I enthusiastically started Doctor Who
Who’s chronology is twisted and bizarre
It seemed like such fun to travel through time and space with a man
Who used a blue box as his car

But soon the companions’ aspirations
To travel to planets and stars
Were crushed by the Void, lost love, and gargoyles
And the Doctor is lonely and scarred.

Not yet wise, I began watching Sherlock
His deduction left me amazed and bamboozled
He and John drank some tea, and solved crimes with glee
Although each case took quite some perusal.

They lived happily with their cool flat decorum
Mrs. Hudson made biscuits below
Then along came the menacing, mean Moriarty
There was nothing that he didn’t know.

Because of the fallacy that Sherlock’s a fake
He’s dead and John’s in the doldrums
The only thing done to commemorate him
Are John’s “I do believe in Sherlock Holmes”

Hoping for a show that was boisterous and happy
Instead of the peaceful, yet sad
I turned to the medieval Merlin
who was quite a cheery lad

He worked for the king’s son, Arthur
who eclectically chose his knights
There were sirs Lancelot, Gwaine, and Leon
The bravest people in sight.

Merlin used his job as camouflage,
His secret he did not divulge
for if they all knew he was a powerful wizard
In his execution King Uther would indulge.

Since Merlin’s destiny was to keep the prince safe
He faced many scary things
He would cower in fear, but when Arthur was near
He felt brave enough to sing

Merlin’s feelings for Arthur were obvious
But does Arthur feel the same way?
When Arthur deigns to exchange dialogue with him
It instantly brightens his day.

But Lancelot died doing Merlin’s job
And Arthur is in love with Gwen
Morgana, a wizard who was once Merlin’s friend
Is evil and wants Camelot dead.

So the Doctor is lonely and growing old
Sherlock left John all alone
And Merlin feels guilty and outcast
They’ve lost all the good they’ve ever known.

And I am left crying and angry.
How could the writers do this to me?
But still, they’re the best shows I’ve ever watched
And I’ll always love the BBC.

Tell me if I intensify or ratify or eclectically
de-sastisfy or ******* lie or
**** me and stratify artistically mortify
I wanna cry and bend this whole **** thing
over to arithmetically magnify
geometrically articulate and situate
the intensity of the diametrical
opposites
******* the whole ****** thing
claim the reasoning as my own
when it came from
my muse.
Say with me...
Is this real?
can I prove one theory
one thing I know
is I am
deaf and dumb.
Just seemingly
revolving waiting
numb.

Eclectically, do not say anything;
put a bullet in your head
and go to sleep.

I know what was coming
after the ballot. A heap of
abuses, for not maintaining the war.

The presence you can feel,
I am the native of this land― when
hurricane comes, you untie the shoes.

May be, wearing a dark suit,
the bartender comes and pours the
honey in your broken glasses.

The music must not stop. The
black spiders, with paired legs have
synchronized with myriapods.

To let it be, that the world, borne of eternity,
Forlorn in apathy, may reject a destiny
Void of anything, in an impulse of ecstasy,
creating everything, including sentiency,
An observant entity born eclectically,
In brevity, to form a self-identity.
To intrepidly adorn value existensially,
Through empathy, worn aesthetically.