They Slipped

The semi-arbitral retells
a story about sentinels
that rustled, aligned a brook,
dimly, in checkered reds,
feebly coursing along
crocus flower beds.

Jet sleek plasters of arabesques,
not far yonder, meandering
technicalities; demolitions
easily extending further
than the eye could see.

Promiscuities sent in eternities;
gaseous promises in pitchers
of micro expressive remedies,
by those stuck to the promethean —
Varied pretenses supped down, vicariously.

The minutiae of blessings,
reissued as anathemas
that must have catered
to those of tattered loves.

They slipped within
that chipped away
at fortuities.


Time Dimensions

“My god, did you see her face?”
“She’s scary.”
“She looks crazy.”
“You don’t have to listen to her!”

Within dimension A,
Vast fields of shadeless hands
Tinged with holographic purples
Weakly fold fingers in succession,
Yelling their wisdom in vibrations.

“Can you really trust her?”
“Turn back!”
“That woman is poison!”
“She’s deceptive.”

Within dimension B,
Circuits of animated electric currents
Coloured in lightning hues, for digital displays,
Travel in angled lineations
Statically sparking advisories in
Grids of channeled pathways.

Dimensions of similar spaces
Where spurred formations of
Love existed in different time frames.