"tertiary" poems
"Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly" (2)
who needs challenges, commissions.
kicks~in~le butte~
when heaven heaves rains, one downs tall orders in
short shot glass verses, which glossed over at its
first communion(cation,
come back
months later
to subtract - another
poem from where it lay dormant
on the doormat
of my sub~sub~terranes
of my diluted subconscious au natured dry & rugged terrain
a favored poet,
a secretive admirer,
whoa~whose~her truthful name, I've yet to uncover,
but whose one true soul inspires me repeatedly,
ana~lyrically licks me into
dredging from me
un begrudgingly
and yet,
another love poem,
she herself wrote when elixiring (commentating (3))
'pon one of mine,
a long long time ago
Alas! Alack!
unnaturally immodest,
one concedes,
when obviously a Super~Woman!-cedes,
seeds in three verses, what I could never unknot
nor uncover
so I requite & requote with
unlabored pleasure
miz patty m's
primary terse verse,
neither secondary & never tertiary,
her absolut perfect mixed drink
defining, summarizing,
the essences of love
*"(Love) Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly"*
I concede, in deed,
and in writing,
I know nothing,
of writing
of only love poetry
and all the great predecessors,
elsewhere lyricized, named and tabulated,
by yet another women, (1)
I will take my weary words elsewhere,
and if
perhaps,
disguised as a woman,
(Natalie, Natasha, Natali
see note below)
perhaps my verbal herbal insides,
my turgid insights,
will be shorter, sweeter,
but never more completer
than those of,
who can syncopate it
in rhyme
and the naming of my
predilection,
by mid~initial,
will give a measuring
of solace, and
a kiss and hug from my mirrored selfie,
having been unsuccessful at
my one chosen endeavor,
only love poetry,
adieu,
I, due,
utter
Nevermore
M>
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
F
M
Agender
Androgyne
Androgynous
Bigender
Cis
Cisgender
Cisgender female
Cisgender male
FTM
Gender fluid
Gender non-confirming
Gender questioning
Gender variant
Gender queer
Intersex
MTF
Neither
Neurosis
Non binary
Other
Pan gender
Trans
Trans*
Trans female
Trans* female
Trans male
Trans* male
Trans feminine
Trans musculine
Transgender
Transgender female
Transgender male
Transgender musculine
Transgender feminine
***********
*********** female
*********** male
Two spirit
And
"Turquoise green tertiary spirited Eskimo"
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 6:33 AM UTC
It is funny to see banners wishing Happiness displayed with cinematic glamour,
the pictures and hordings of Banner heroes.
The one at Tannery Road junction was peculiar to mention.
Here it was common
The captions "Happy" used to summon names of sundry festivals-Local and national, even internstional.
What's uncommon was the bold prints
of a hero's name ARUMALAI outshining
The caption and his larger than life picture establishing the photographer's digital brushing skills.
A passer by wondered who'd be this Arumalai,
Is he so great as to be advertised in polivynil?
His glorious deeds may be what they want you to heed
Still never ever seen or heard of his manners
Anywhere than in these motley banners
Just as a function
at the Tannery road junction
Each one passed by this colossal glance attracted provoking protracted ruminance what do this expensive banners really mean?
In another occasion
the glaring glorifying picture
of ARUMALAI followed the tag
Corporator,
Below the man posing a DICTATOR.
That was a period to a period of mystery!
Banners changed with seasons
with greetings on religious occasions
Festivals of importance
Birthdays of men even
with crowded profiles of hailers
Whose unrully manners
Too clogging up the banners
Like a wanted list of jailors.
One day a strange banner
hooked by the Tannery cross over
Spooked and shocked every passer-by
There the usual banner cut out
the larger than life image blings-out
Arumalai the BBMB corporator
Posing as dictator!
There was no wish of any kind.
It was a notice startling any mind
The sad demise of ARUMALAI
The BBMB corporator
Still possed as dectator
By his living promoters.
"He was sick and the local dispensary advised a minor operation.
He was administered
the necessary treatment.
Was referred to a super-speciality
centre and was declared dead.
His sad demise was advertised, he was forty.
His chummies complained of medical negligence", was the only news summary
in major news papers...
What was the reason for the minor surgery
What're the preparations
for the corporator's operation
All are mystery for a causal itinerary
passer by crossing over the Tannery Road junction, wondering at the strange envountering with banners
that come and go
Keeping no annals
Floating on the mind for a while
Stopping at the red's knell,
Moving with the green signal
The rise and fall of heroes
As binary one and zero
The banners tell a story tertiary
Of the rise and fall of a luninary
Within a plane ofmomentary
Variation of red and green
On the Tannery road's screen.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 5:13 AM UTC
Disregard is Disrespect
I don’t have a responsibility
but because I feel one
I do
Let my voice and words be enough
if they are not
Let my deeds and actions be enough
if they are not
I will sacrifice:
my blood, my sweat, my tears
to try and make you understand
or at least comprehend
I am different from you
not that I am trying
I am the same as you
not that I am trying
Your definition of me and those that seem to be like me
is secondary maybe even tertiary
What matters is
the explanation of me as i interpret to you
just as
the explanation of you as you interpret to me
I am human as you
because
I AM
© Christopher F. Brown 2016
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
Today someone laryngospasmed and dropped to 65%
Before I opened their airway
Last week, same thing, except 55%
I’m finding myself increasingly dispassionate and unconcerned during these episodes
Externally it would appear
I’m skating by
Skin of my teeth
Brushing off increased agitation by the OR staff
Watching the patient’s life bouncing on the roulette wheel as I tilt the table
........Come on red ................
But it’s not like that. I have a plan. Always a backup. Tertiary options.
A, B,C, and [God forbid] D.
So far, C and beyond is unknown territory.
I’m concerned with my confidence. Too much?
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
Nearing great compost pile,
that steamy heap,
insatiable hunger hits guts.
And I know fortitude for journey
is contained in wealth of
centipedes, predatory mites,
rove beetles, ants,
nematodes, protozoa,
and **** of wriggly worms.
Virgil waits for me, as he did Dante.
He takes form of a sowbug,
but with whole of worldly wisdom.
Shows me circles to which I will fall:
organic residues,
primary consumers,
secondary consumers
and further tertiary consumers.
An ancient pyramid decompositional
processes the scaling down
before the rising up. Each eating
excrement of another before them.
One I become with slugs and snails.
Invertebrates shred meat from bone.
Flies make airborne my bacteria,
carrying me off to feed birth of
future fungi.
I am reborn over and over.
Never more have I known
anything more Godly.
Intestinal juices of earth, enzymes
and other fermentation
taking me down,
pushing me out,
transforming trash of my existence
back to Eden.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
Frozen moments,
embraced,
visions of
luminous things,
unpretentious
pearls dancing;
embers of memory linger,
elegy of the lachrymose,
this horizoning self
lying low in saturnine
tranquility
and repose – paternity lost
to the provisional.
The cross of lassitude,
forming
scars of loss;
estrangement,
preface to
ineluctable autonomy.
Earthen treasure - immortal
footprints, the migration
of fair maidens across my
effusive heart.
Venus trio in bloom,
aesthetic allusion,
ephemeral incarnations
of beauty - perishable fruit,
transcending the plebeian.
Aerial substance-
the hermeneutic,
betraying desire’s
ambrosial tyranny;
The permuted passage -
savor the sojourn, submit
to the fated peregrination.
Purple orchids blossom,
immortal creatures,
culminating
in perfection
from the sheath
respectively,
each plume,
singular,
the continuum of
splendor, mediate
the inviolable.
Eternity compounding,
time and essence suffuse
the already and not yet
into an
orbiting mosaic.
The susurrant devotions
of a satellite father,
summon the quest -
both, and,
absence and proximity,
conduits of
distress and peace
ironically,
solace and
terror
traverse the
same path.
Plunge though,
deep, the depth of pain;
deeper, sweeter
the taste of pleasure.
Engender and witness,
window into
preeminence,
surface azure,
the sacred -
inimitable gravity of
grandeur,
ma petite,
you - are
lived poetry
seen and heard;
cosmic order,
a mediating heuristic -
to love is to see,
in the dismal,
gift of distance.
child of delight,
evermore, Don’t I hold you?
Beauty and strangeness,
music found
in linear,
secret places
beyond the tangent,
purview of limitation,
arousing imagination -
infinititude as near
as it is far.
Long loneliness -
dissonance that
resolves;
perceiving,
the tertiary refrain -
as exquisite verse,
and matchless liqueur,
sublime gratuity
derived
through
doors of surrender.
Daughter,
in adoration and wonder,
I hold you.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
<> for the love of friends<>
How does one write
of one he knew not?
the ancillary evidence
mounts relentlessly,
the double toil and trouble moments
edged now, slow vanquished by
steady accumulation
of the evidentiary
a man who lived his life well,
will be inevitably,
nay, justifiably, deservedly
be well remembered...
one examines the evidence with
eyepiece lenses calibrated
to one's own soul,
for this is the natural condition
of humanity
yet wonder,
what manner, what scale,
does one rightly employ
to judge another's
plantings in the soil?
rightly judge another?
then you hear
a woman say,
she knew not knew
this man Eryc,
revealing an honest tertiary,
even cursory knowledge
of an anecdotal life well lived
our shared quandary,
yet she solves
this judicial issue
by asking of herself
a question
so stunningly elementary,
which both
asks and answers
the double risk
you have imposed,
to write of one you can never behold,
and in doing so,
judge thyself...
What Would Eryc Do?
this crystal rapid current question
erodes doubt, the fear to tread
where one knows not
when a stranger says to another,
indeed to many others:
heard tell of this young man,
and know now to ask myself
when I too am junctured, in doubt,
What Would Eryc Do?
there is no doubt, no juncture,
just a provident question
a makers's mark
of and upon a man,
whose future shortened,
will live far, far longer than most,
if one simple applies
a standard to one's own life of
What Would Eryc Do?
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
One of the most humorous conditions that a creature could burden itself with is a somnambulant desire to be to it’s own liking .
Maxillary extrapolation although a positive political expectorant is likewise a practical partiality .
I prefer to be philanthropically phenological although rational impedance is my histophysiology . My present participle is practical pragmatism and tertiary transcendentalism . Xenoplasticly speaking I feel alone but plausibility is a probationer in reflective self awareness . Atrociously impetuous I proceeded amidst heinously horrendous heckledom . Adequate inflection is a relevant relative to retaliatory regression but I digress . Paraphernalia is a practitioner to plausibility’s cause and should be assimilated through cognizance not perfunctory preferentialism .
Hegelian humanitarianism must supersede political subterfugalism or all may be lost in quagmire .
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC
From the world unknown we came to self discovery.
We woke to a land our mothers had conceived us.
We came little and fragile, soft and tender.
The world we never knew received us to a people we never chose.
We came with tears in our eyes,
And echoes of sorrows in our voices ,
As joy and gladness of heart inexplicable prevailed the men and th women to whom we were born.
Our babies borne around back and front and side to side.
Little by little, day by day
We **** and eat and grow
Our innocent beings gradually were introduced to the world,
A world of pain and sorrow, a ruthless world.
A world of uncertainties, like children lost in wilderness as to Lord of the flies.
After so much love, care and tenderness, we began to know hatred, harsh words of tongues,
We were introduced to straight pains from rods of chastisement.
Some rods out of hatred born with envy,
Some out of love and correction.
We kept on growing like grass in summer, snow in winter.
We were sent to places where with our peers we learned to be better in our societies,
Primary and secondary to tertiary and to the universal world.
We learn to know ourselves our world and the way of tomorrow, it's uncertainties and unpredictabilities .
From the world we live free,
We were left to build our own,
The world of our own,
The beginning of our beings
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 6:07 PM UTC
Specious speculative salacious spectral season
Transmogrify trapezium traverse torsion treason
Erotica errantry erectile endogenic emblazon
Ghastly gnashy grotesque gristly garrison
Larcenous lecherous lascivious latent lesson
Entelechy ethology exsistentialize extant epsilons
Spurious spry squabble subtle specialization
Transient transitive tour de force teleportation
Encephala enunciate endeavor executant emulation
Garish gaudy gambit glitch granulation
Lurid livid liaison limpid laceration
Extravaganza expletives expeditious equilibration emendation
Sly stodgy surreptitious spatiotemporal solicitor
Taciturn tactile transcendent tertiary torpor
Euphoria eminent equivocal exserted emancipator
Garrulous gustatory gung ** gestational gesticulator
Lyricism lilt liberation lambaste levitator
Escutcheon exergonic epaulet exodus extrapolator
Starkness staunch spectacle stolid stultification
Telepathy tantamount tractive tellurian transmutation
Exonerate euthenics exegesis entourage eradication
Groaty gnarly gruesome gristly gastrulation
Licentious lewd lacunar laconic limitation
Extemporaneous exigency embark embargo extradition
Slinky slick sultry stoical snout
Transubstantiate torturous temerarious tumultuous tout
Eucharist extortion enmity epithet eke out
Gross grit groin grove grout
Lentic leister lotic lothario levity lout
Execrating eventuation evocative evitable excerpt bout
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
Like the way a speaker prepares his toast. Each yearning sensibility, their bold autumnal stamen cast lines into the horizon of our lives. That when we were younger we even thought, that aeroplanes would land just where we stood in front of our homes in our neighborhood. And if unfurled, as our oil riggers kept us off the benches so we must only had whispers of our doings. Then Harold Sev and Linda Wevven brought to us our cars, our toys, our wives...cooking and cleaning and children. This was not the narrow passage of peak four.
Because of this we have learned many wonderfully-suited professions of our tertiary friends: radio captain, Saharan Field Marshall, dairy operator at a dromedary farm.
Why in this short-timed, often-rainy parody of existence due countries set embargos upon one another so that two men who cannot afford even the drink they carry, so long as they handle the glass properly, and we concern ourselves with things as trivial as this.
You stay everyone! This America is stupendous.
Or then drink from my hands and say, "America Finding the Curious Even More Curiouser.'" Where with two plates two bowls, two forks, two spoons, two glasses, and thrice the knives of a charcuterie.
So with your bold hand baskets, and Model-Ts, go show us how you fffffffffffffffffffff
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 4:42 AM UTC
I've waited so long, I'm walking to you
If you'll walk to me by dawn.
I'll give you red diamonds and the black pearls
Give you something for your finger to have on
I'm standing in the street waiting for crunch time to calm me,
I thought I knew you better than this, I know you knew me better
Than you would ever let on.
The way you wore your father's Captain's uniform,
You are the stewardess and pilot both,
I'm the admiral of this flotilla racing across the Aegean to meet your coast,
But often it seems I'm rowing a dinghy into the arms of the storm of your ghost.
Meet me in Palo Alto
Where the devil's giving me dollar for dollar on my soul.
Three thousand miles of traveling the brainwaves
To California, to San Francisco I go.
Some women wait, others they lie, some they hate just for sport
Some men find it troubling to live in their sins while the rest of us
Weather the storm.
Brown paper poetry scribbled on bags,
cut throat couplets, haikus and prose
Drinking and tripping and looking for junk
Just a collection of madness in its throes.
The petals have draped themselves over your body,
Can you taste God in your foils?
I'm just waiting to collide into the skin
My fortune said you'd bring
I can do without the tertiary friends like that red-headed *****
Megan whose company you keep.
When it comes to taking every piece of treason don't underestimate
Their thievery. They'll drink from your fountain of abuse, until their
Goblets sear their lips and burn away their tongues.
The universal language of O- blood lust, is just beginning to be enough.
Doctors say you've died, but your heart's on fire
I'm just a conflagration where there used to be a man
My veins sweat the poisons of quiet disease,
They can crash while we burn alive,
Sitting quietly together in Dolores Park,
While our toxicity kills us inside.
Let's just wait here and burn alive.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
Passed, tense
Under the glass, we shone;
the windows, daring each of us to shatter, was my
feeling.
But there we idled, I sat up adjusting my lap--
unmistakably you inched back.
What air, bag, hallowed, spinning!
We give gas and speed off collectively, until the light
Source leaps into the dying sun or mutates into red.
Your mouth, inaudible above the unstifflable drone
of the exodus from the city-- the people rushing out, away
from what sustains them.
The light, falls into position, bekonning, you coward.
Passed, tense
Under the glass, we shone;
and you were the heaving globus--
nothing, but a tertiary object
clumsily laden with meaning by
the tides and orbiting bodies in
the cooling sunlight.
With your archaic gleaming
Who would have guessed
that I would follow you to
Saturnalia?
Why Cleave, me, useless, tire!
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 11:15 PM UTC
words;
so simple and yet so. hard
for so many,
yes those other things,
assist:
how you adore my shoulders
holding up thinnest spaghetti straps,
with your tiny kisses tattling,
into a tactile ecstasy~me,
but this is tertiary,
a different, yet not
the prime of primary
first,
foremost,
when you make me smile,
or burst out loud
with laughter, gasping pleasure,
when you write me poetry,
show the girl, the women,
the world through
your eyes, in special word-ly ways,
you superglue our souls, epoxy my cracks,
clear my forward~only tracks,
make visible an imaginable future,
make me love you in ways no other has,
and most importantly,
in no other ways that can compare
so many others think money, power, physicality,
are keys, but they are not, I am my own woman,
I have money
I have power,
I have physicality,
and this matters less and less as time gaps on and on…
what I will never have enough:
of the words that ease, release, remake me,
awaken me,
and a million new ones,
refilling + restoring,
so our one treasure chest
only grows,
compounds
with simple interest,
this simply is,
the only key,
and it,
cannot be duplicated
and that will never change the
the equality of us…
bc
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 2:51 PM UTC
the bridge you passed has bodies under it, get over your fear of lying and get on your tummy and let's play wheelbarrow with those stems I scooped up from CVS and pre-cut for you before I got to the front door. Not only do I like that your mom likes that I like to get you them; you wear how content you are with we based on how you meet the needs of a poppy or a daffodil. Nothing does buckets of flowers good like a little bit of teenage romance. But we're not still digging the crotch out of our fingers or filing down or ****** cards anymore, now are we? We have multimedia, social networking, label, after ******* label and acquaintance both tertiary and intimate to reconcile differences, the advice we've never asked for but always been given. No one will ever tell me what I deem tolerable, especially you. I know that after saying how you've never disappointed me you must have felt some guilt, an unintentional result of once again attempting my position in thwarting any emotional pain that continues to be unresolved. We spoke of being funny and pushing boundaries but not breaking our circle of contentedness. But instead by sleeping in our arms until the side on which you lay molds my arm inside of it, and we are made one.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 6:20 AM UTC
I threw away
your spare toothbrush,
and the cigarette
you burned
at my windowsill,
on two different days
after counting
how long since you'd left.
*I tell myself
that I'm over you,
while I sing the blues
under my breath.*
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
*so there are fifty states and they’re joined by federation laws,
but talk of “the state” is not talked about in the same way as
talk of california
or new jersey or new england...
because these states... ah blah blah... why not change
it to the f.n.a.: federation of north america?
it’d sell you a few badges, t-shirts and balloons.*
so in america the federal laws are like ecclesiastical laws,
and state laws are like european state laws -
steal an onion from a merchant’s stand
and get your hand chopped off
in the translation of arabic, should it come to such
drastic action -
so while in europe the church-state of einstein’s
vocabulary went their separate ways
ensuring that time became definite and space became definite
and the space-time / church-state hyphenated coupling
was simply defined as indefinite...
and that coupling became sort of theoretically
stuck in bubblegum of inactivity and awe as truth.
in america there’s a purposive blocked toilet
of the federal (laws) never meeting the state (laws)...
but imagine if the federal met the state
like the church once met & clung to the state...
this purposive avoidance of the two never meeting
in america is already problematic
from what i have heard...
the two need to meet and then uncouple...
like in europe where the church & state met and then divorced...
this state / federal engagement can’t last...
there has to be a marriage... and subsequent divorce to just
see how the political engine works...
otherwise there’ll be a lawyers’ limbo to contend with,
i.e. when a lawyer doesn’t understand something
he tends to use his defence mechanism of making at least
one word ambiguous with the word’s secondary, tertiary meaning,
which doesn't ask for a serious argument
but a solipsistic technicality of not talking to the person
least informed but most ambitious to say something, anything.
i.e. you can’t really claim that california is federated
if the wealth of california is worth as much as iowa, nebraska,
north dakota, south dakota, wyoming... basically the whole of mid-west
scotland ireland bulgaria and romania and sicily;
but i’m sure thomas jefferson was looking for pretty geography
rather than equations to stamp out marxism.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
The bare ****** twit-lay,
The amalgam-fed panic,
The tertiary under your bed.
The colors stained wholesome,
The moot-bares non-sharing,
The fake-jawed that leads to your red.
You closet them purely.
You love them with Soma.
That help-sleep that staves off the dread.
But,
Time restarts upon waking,
And age-speed does quicken,
As that ring falls
from your finger
like lead.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 10:30 PM UTC
Thanx for the crumbs they taste great, they are a little green though. **** it I don't want crumbs, I don't want a piece of the pie, I want the whole **** thing.
Thanx for the bone, I gnawed on it all day, though I it was a bit green too. I'm sick of the bones, and I don't want scraps from your self indulgent plate. I want the whole **** steak.
Thanx for wasting my time. It took a while to do but I got it done and it was good but you wasted it anyway. Now I think I will Just burn it. I'm sure you wont mind, it's of no consequence to you.
They don't understand, That was my foot in the door that just got slammed in my face. Oh sure you'll use it on a secondary nature, tertiary at best. No prominence there, I guess you don't think the for front is good enough for the sounds you'll be making. Mine sounds are wailings.
Thanx for investing in me only to pull your offer back then wag it under my nose like yer teasing a dog. Its nice to know you believe in what I do. Its okay though, really, I can handle.another scar. They just add character.
But hey you gotta go with what's gonna work best for Your bottom line to pad your pockets, ***** the little Guy, He don't need to catch a break even if he shows he can do it the hard way. It was only my foot in the door but its okay, you didn't break it when you slammed the door shut on my face.
Thanx for your crumbs and bones. They taste great.
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 10:18 AM UTC
Sunrise explosion!
Sneaking up on no one
But the unawake
At life, at the day
But to the awake...BANG!
And the planet we are on in all
its Enormity
and prism power - atmosphere
Separates the radioactive
explosion
That is traveling
299,792,458 miles per second
From 93 million miles away
(a whole 8 minute journey)
From a hot body
With a 432,288 mile radius
of glowing
exploding gas
That, upon reaching us
Is recklessly
Smashed
Into all potential tertiary shades
Of cerulean and sapphire
Of marigold and sandstone
Of shades beyond identifiers
(we all experience them
differently anyhow)
And for these opening moments
of the day
All masterpiece paintings
appear as preschool throwaways
And as quickly as the calm chaos enters
It stage exits
On account
Of the 432k mile monstrosity
That will blind
Any
Who dared look at it
Good morning.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
In the first step I was born.
In the second step practices to seat,stand up and move.
the third step I started to know who am I and reveal my first words to my family then to my friends forth step is education, low level,high level, tertiary then work.
if you get tummy or getting smoke you have to know you missed one step and you will fall and starting to step one will be hard.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 3:33 AM UTC
This Island sits in ruin
split down the middle, ruined
tune of the howling dog
lost in the fog, black
and brazen beast, hair.
I walk down sunlit streets,
immersed in the solemnity
that is my want. I reverse, rewind
and play it all back, the screams,
the endless chasm of the undertow
lying on the other side of the street.
All God and no religion, all zest without
meaning, It's enough to drive one mad -
it has.
Tracing back memory to find the skin
all I find is a wolf staring back
with hollow hungry eyes, the beast that feasts
at **** of dawn, day by day, inside.
The Island is split down the middle.
The Dog lays leaden over a hung court,
we want a world that makes more sense
but we can't really see it, albeit in
distance, no it's not here.
Yet, the Island is split down the middle.
What's here is the sound of dizzying cries,
the flesh of the innocent burnt for Mamon
the burnt umber of the spirit, it provides no comfort,
none.
I dream of someone or something to pull me out of this
perfect calamity, peace is a world I can scarcely remember -
such pain, such leaden cliches.
Nothing is ever perfect, the Tertiary turning of the *****
the wolf howls and paddles in his boat towards a fresh death.
Whimpering soul of me, drowning in a cup of coffee, lost, afraid
and lacking faith. I swim. Drown sometimes, then resurrect, unfortunate and unwilling Lazerus. Blinking into mortal light.
Each day is another trial, the end seems far away, and close at the same time.
I don't think this one has a happy ending.
Divide by 2, create 1.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 7:41 PM UTC