Sunday, November 20, 2016

-stream of (Saturday) consciousness-

Balcony descent, the odds are slim
Careful timing, or predisposed
Goading, mustering nerve
Weight to the scales of motivation

I have enough silk spun
To handle the gust of Saturday
Determining navigation with a broken compass
Yes, yes. That is my Achilles heel.

What boredom I now feel,
To attest to such bullshit.
I am the author, dawning on these days
Dawning on the precipice of so many ‘ways’

To rhyme in the reason of glistening thought
To meddle with backbones, accomplishing nought

What breeds the radar of amplified acts
To hem down the nothing with a brutalized axe

Quicken the ardor of daylight to draft
With molten hot action to hone down the craft

“ been lonely too long.”

Dry skin of Winter
Song of the proud
Ignore the stark splinter
Of deficit’s shroud.

Flesh made of layers
Peel on the fly
Fuck the naysayers
That lean in to spy.

I’m brushing off notions
That bug me too much
And drugging with potions
The indecent crutch.

Poof goes the daring
To drag out the snitch
And forego the wearing
Of the thick-welted switch.

Winter is fallow
With blistering need
Sucked deep into marrow
And omniscient greed.

Where the fuck do I go from here? What am I to do with these latest developments?

Festering concerns have nowhere to land
Just to shout in silence, to rid the self
Of the unfairness in life’s twists.

Minutiae crowds corners of all hallowed ground.
This loyalty, a brand so severe
Betrothed when the light was young.

This, the enigma of matter that none can procure
Developmental waste, continuing to repudiate
The rot in the center, emanating out.

There is nothing to trigger a new cause
Only (un)limited days continually pondering-
The 'delving into theories' of why a heart bleeds.

For soon, a time for loss will fall
Onto the laps of resignation, to shut one last time
This door of brutal defeat.

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