Heard fretful antlered growths
Where merrily made guises
Kept fading into the distant
Sorrows of slowly rotting carcasses,
Resting in the fractured pieces of
Divestments in the unturned (as of yet)
Hallowed investments of those untamed
Coyote minds, ever watchful of fractalizing
Detachments after having upturned
These beratingly hushful uncertainties in
Resentful wooded dreams inside glasses of
Jaded memories ticking forward
That then staggered and froze,
When they unstartlingly pondered,
“Today” or maybe, perhaps, “tomorrow”.
Instinctual subversive rumblings
Ramble on about ambling sufferings
Erroneously within ambers
Pulled away by duty’s calls.
It was just gas.
But at the helm of seriousness,
Splattered gains grinded in the pits,
Inebriated inside elongated bowels, before
And after it had passed.
Jarringly, I found out that my
Kamikaze like memories would
Kill themselves off without my
Before an acceptable
Time frame had
Wait, I think I spoke too quickly.
What about suppression…
Could I possibly
Relish this as an excuse?
What about how close
You, actually, were to me..
Maybe it could’ve
Been a hybrid of reasons.
Cardinals supplied euphoric nectars
For wailing ruby throats
That cared a little too much,
That took place of bested negotiations.
Nervously they’d fidget inside
The eminent spinster spins
His preference for reds
With illusory wools.
Partially drugged up from supping
Prospects of caricatures caused
Disappearing one point perspectives; pain filled
Comprehensions in minute successions
Vanishing in memory’s loss.
Kinetics, nominated, would activate
Nomenclatures that’d retaliate against
Grains of berating sand figures.
Hazels inside hexagonal shapes
Tread on pent up fates,
Effacing bescorched shells which
Elicited swells of starfish escapes.
The course of virtual realities
Held steady streams in glistening purities
That belonged to deluded deities;
Their wrongs, unacknowledged.
Because their temples
Must have been of
Than those considered to be
Being duped by ignorances
By their own arrogances,
Spittling at their own
So she’d move.
They’d get married
They’d get bored,
Seek other outlets,
They’d focus on the negatives
While they’d have screaming matches,
Then those images
They had promised.
I once witnessed
An altercation between
And a cicada
On the bushes
In the front
Of my home.
Fuck preconceived notions given to me
Fuck the standards
Direly contained in eternal letters
Knaves huddled their derrieres
Close to alleviate the cold.
Her slewed sounds of magnetic coats;
They’d exchange guarana seeds
Propagating paganistic dreams
That dropped everything.
Then they’d spin artistically,
Within those choked up days when
Kitted mates incandescently tried
To believe in some other distant thing,
Lest the calm be disrupted
When they’d meet.