Did anyone
ever tell you?
A tall tale,
never spoken;
forgotten by
no one but
the otters
playing death time
inside
warmer waters...
Spill a couple
bucks;
a burr
to stir
unwanted critics,
forlorn...
Unto the bottom
of the pot.
I was finding
nothing
but
constant
senses of loss.
And also
the missing links
in
between
the ricochets
of life.
Quarters
buy the pounder,
naught by weight,
as they say
bye bye
to non
forms of slaughter;
it's the laughter
of nonsensical
euclidean
anticipations.
Off, wrinkly old
souls
saying hello.
Into concave
mountains of solitude
and hope...
My mirror serves
thy filler,
the sharpest, not by blade.
Knot my entrails,
up becoming,
my sensations
pity squandered.
Into seldom
portions.
As I aspire
to create
the same oxidation
as I breath
away
into landscapes
when I dream.
Replicating a blaze
to burn-freeze
the shadows away.
Walking in cells
and polishing reds.
I forgot about
the pain,
again.
Of shapes?
Its wonder.
Alas,
the render
of notion,
a path well drawn,
and ready to follow
when deep
in trenches
of tainted motions.
The mud of brazen
smokes
built views from
the crumbles
of rusty bases.
We juggle the hours
away, into vacuums,
put coal into
the brazing
darken chambers.
Design your days as
brittle as
ceramics.
Find the spot to
pull the curtains
into fold.
And bend
the improbable
corners.
Of our house,
left to tempered
weathers,
and the force
of fires left free
to wander
into the town
at night...
The desert
sets new motions,
as the emotions
voted void.
I grab the circles
by non-existent
ends.
A pleasantry
to put and end
to all dismay.
Too much array.
Too many trains.
So little ways to take
an exit stair to main
floors, up there,
where no sound dares
to eviscerate a light.
We got quasars
burning,
dying,
inside our pockets
next to
The Change.
We got sunshine,
we got handouts.
We got reality as
a playground
left to find us.
If you can grab
your soul into a bubble.
See your steps
as the viewer.
Leave the controller
on the desktop.
And step into
the most proximate
of windows.
Feel the rays of ancient
Gods
rotting into energy;
and leaving tears of diamond
for trail blazers
to encounter.
We can live without
anything.
Alas.
Our Rhythm.
We'll create everything,
and set its path into devotion.
A thrill of countless
contortions.
My tender render
to greater senses
and think of nothing
but
my only ambition:
C O A L I T I O N
