It’s Not

They travel through telephone wires
In discoloured energy sparks
Of whites lined with cobalt
Inside shadowy helixes
Of indigo blues
Entering emptied homes
Of tapered glass walls.

Deceptions in fabrications
Of deciphered loves
Without bodies;
Just a soul.

Erroneous sounds escaping
The thinnest lines of
Must be realities that
Could make the world fall apart.

Like the last time they blew it up.

Hush

Armored cavalry aligned in rows
Against gated stone masonry,
Await with abated breath
As shadowed sundials surrender
To the ascending moon.

Condensed atmospheric vapour
Settle into droplets on leaflets,
Gliding down exhausted valleys
As water scorpions swivel and scurry
Across unidentifiable flesh pieces.

Archers point their swerving bows,
Releasing descending kinetic energies;
Of choices in redundancies.

Harbored Ports

Buoys float on blue-green brine
In flares of flaking chicory reds
On alloys of rusted parts
As chains act as anchors nearby
Harbored ports, littered with
Boats along the coast.

Oils discolour with toxicity
As its poisons fill up gills
Of the poor little fishies
In delirious quantities
In noxious dreary knolls.

Booms contain whilst skimmers collect;
Missing forgotten ambiguities
Of misconceptions in disbelief.

That it Would Never Be

Cotton puffs softly blended in
Salmons, greys, and whites
Sprawl across blue-orange skies.
Heavenly bodies impartial
To incandescent spectral lights
Reflect love’s wishes,
Regardless.

Retracting conjured forms
Beamed in conversing flows
Within whorls of shared spaces
Banished
To would-never-be realities

Tell me,
Does love get easier over time