Sunday, April 16, 2017

The Vernacular of Indecision

Copious chunks of time
Blundering over contaminated beliefs
A sanctum of raw, and let us face it-
Useless candor.
This noise, swarming
Elected to hum into me
Over me,
Ten feet ahead of me.
Place the wormhole behind.
Is it so easy?

"A burning violin..."

Build instead, a new cavern
A place to play a succulent tune
To pluck moist notes until blisters form
To sing of oil soaked pine
...and sticky thighs.

Careful now, to not trip and crack
The point of four separate points
As they rush to converge upon the pedestal
Of highest regard.
Knocking jawbone and elbow
To the detriment of ego

The Ego of heart; the Ego of mind
The Ego of Erogenous Platitudes
...and the fourth, more contentious ego
Soul.

The melody of organisms around me
Bleeding into my psyche
Juggling the 'due' in confounded annoyance
Passive/Aggressive mutinies
Multiplying in these closest, innermost boundaries

Fucking each to the other in deep succession.

Instantiated by memories and assumptions
Locked in post-haste anxiousness to serve that 'due' justice
Of an unrepentant, analgesic sort.
Transparencies kept thinner, tenuous, strenuous. Unfit,
...yet succeeding, if success is what you call failure.
These loquacious synonyms
Nothing more than the vernacular of indecision.