Tag Archives: glimpses

Losing Oxygen

Every famous blunt excuse

That left scuffs on the soles of your shoes

A three-dimensional dementia

Escaping with a bloodied insignia

The air feels solid; just another futile reach

Of what is unhinged and rusted away

Nuanced flares, serendipitous glimpses

Desperation worth what you needed to say

Push and pull at the faulty gravity

As the swelling throats, unable to scream,

Still sing until dehydration and reverie

Now transcending into an angel’s bad dream.

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Another incident in the darkness

raven hallucinations

take over furtive glimpses

of a wary glinting eye

.

the nightingales are

mournfully weeping as the

crows cackle “someone’s going to die”

.

deathly silence enveloping

thick as the opalescent fog that

obscures the most crepuscular of souls

.

all before a distant scream pierces

the infinite nightmare; and another

wandering entity is devoured whole.

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Of Bards and Boulevards

I am a poet, and I am here to tell you a story.

But, be forewarned, for I do not narrate. I simply leave mischievous glimpses and equivocal fragments for you to pick up and stitch together on your own. I do not wish to be straightforward; for the better adventure is surrendered on a vertical highway. Instead I provide narrow twisted paths and interminable dead ends, unhelpful road signs and perennially blinking broken traffic lights, confusing directions to nowhere that will lead you to everywhere. It is solely up to you to decide where you shall end up, whether it be a populated city with brightly glowing billboard lights, or a dark narrow alleyway with a fetid corpse abandoned under the dumpster. The exact same steps taken can lead to either one at any given time. The travel is truly yours to pursue, and I am merely there to provide you with what scant counsel you might require, and even then, my offers of assistance might be questionable, and the information given will be more misleading than useful. For I am a poet, not a mere storyteller, and my intricate words are your only guide, your sole map and compass in this discordant infinite chaos of a universe that I have created. Never take them as they are, and pray caution, for they do not want you to arrive at your destination. And neither do I.

I am a poet, and I’ll tell you to get lost.

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eye. see. you.

and your eyes

are toxic

i close my own

and see

glimpses of that

wary glint

digging daggers in

my sockets

hurting me badly

the longer

i stare, the longer

you glare

shade of the pupils

snap fibres

blinding me again—

and i miss it…

i miss dying in your

violent gaze.

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The Home Inside My Head

I’m getting pretty good at leaving, my patience isn’t wearing thin
Autumn never ends in my head, no matter how far I’ve been
It feels like everybody is the branch and I’m the leaves
Falling from the top of every leafless tree…

~*~

Seven lies, to make up for the ones I spent on you last night

Veneration and admiration melting into stained-glass spites

Memories triggered on the revolver with an empty chamber

A diamond bullet for each bloodstain that I fail to remember

.

This is way more complicated than smoking on the dashboard

And sitting on the basement stairs, tying another noose’s cords

An apartment with a single chair and a couch to accommodate

The monsters that visit my bedroom when I am staying up late

.

Doorways without a doorknob, a stone key without a brass lock

A broken doorbell with a barren picture frame, so please knock

Provisions of diverse renditions settling in moth-frayed drapery

Your overplayed excuses taste like naphthalene on dust bunnies

.

Under the lampshade where you hid those secrets and the baggage

You stowed away with hallmark cards and epipens for easy storage

Brass tacks and rusty corkscrews can’t alter the sound of voicemail

Last year it was our symphony, now it’s just another ire on the scale

.

A ghost of the tenant occupying an abandoned and decrepit residence

Ancient tales of foreboding snatched by shadows, gaunt reminiscence

The home inside my head feels much more spacier with a lodger gone

Past vacant stares and for sale signs, perhaps it is time I end my haunt.

~*~

The home inside my head has a bed for me
That no one will ever get the chance to see
A kitchen table with one chair, walls with
Empty picture frames no one will ever see…

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cut[e]

salmon striped socks

of prickly hedgehogs

and soft charcoal hum

of drowsy hooting owls

faint thralls and glimpses

of such whimsical serenity

partaken instead of sangria

and dulled-out steel so foul.

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In Hindsight

Three wasted years, standing still
As you opened up, eighteen miles wide
On this country drive, I can’t keep up
‘Cause you’re so far gone…

~*~

Satin eyelids closing, obstructing castles in the air

Crestfallen subtleties, vintage postcards, cab fares

A drawbridge separating, onto evergreen pastures

Fractious obstinacy lost in throes of verdant cures

Nuanced lips haunting, a tenor’s aria in resonance

Rekindling fiascos within, spectrum in dissonance

Entreaty of moribund curiosity, transforming stars

Eavesdrop from parallel dimensions hidden in jars

Skirls of a zephyr, flumes under rehearsed streams

Ceramic heart in allusion, elusive firmament seams

Gateway to phantom illusions, fairies light up sense

Don’t open your eyes yet, it all might simply coalesce.

~*~

Three wasted years, wasting time
As the hunger pains grow inside
I can’t keep up, ’cause you’re so far gone
And it’s all too much hindsight…

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Fauxtographic Memory

I keep losing sleep in beds still made from soaking sheets
And I’m still haunted by the ghosts of people still breathing
I already hate the words, they’re not a thing we even share
Stop looking for a metaphor, it isn’t there…

~*~

Photographs in negative slate

Cigarette ash on his fingertips

A lock of hair on the pillowcase

Faint redolence of perfume sweet

Keys hanging on floral keychains

Abandoned stilettos by the doors

Pastel sticky notes on beige wall

Milk spoiling in the refrigerator

Dusty corner in solemn shadows

Familiar strain of a phonograph

Soft touch but a distant stranger

Faltering echoes of ghostly laugh

Red lipstick stains on sheets of silk

And aftershaves of musk and cedar

An empty closet, dirty bathroom sink

His eulogy written in crumpled paper.

~*~

Fauxtographic memory
A mind that’s still developing
I turn my back on all I see
Cause everything feels make believe
You tried to stay, I made you leave
And made the world give up on me
I can’t accept reality…

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Alice in the Garden

lit epiphanies overlooking

the pale peninsula

in entities of naphthalene

parchments of aria

diaphanous dirndl weave

fading cornflowers

embroidered needlework

strewn cool odours

fingertips brushed lightly

delicate rose petals

ebullient riparian stream

cascade in intervals

mysterious quiet keyholes

revealing a reverie

never has mine fanciful soul

felt such blithe ferly.

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Glimpses in the Garden

Yellow paper aeroplanes soar overhead candy mint skies

The scoops on napoleon ice cream, pastel flavours thrice

Glimpses of the shy sun behind hazes of clouds and milk

Freshly mowed lawn fragrance wafting on afternoon bilks

Silk ribbons weaved together, chromatic red striped poles

Lazed reading, lemonade kisses, insouciant relaxing goals

Fields of neon chartreuse and coasts painted in deep blue

Ravelling riparian tides with umbrellas raised as bees flew

Daydream cloisonné, summery denouement in gold thorns

Slipstreams and vignettes spun on calliope hearts to adorn

Lucky recherché, fruitful fructescence, and agrestic weather

Nickel shops with deciduous fans, on a transient hither-thither.

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