They, wrapped up in distressed linen cloth, standing
By canterburies of incorporeal prints
Tried to hold onto throes of intangible realities.
The same bandages didn’t console those pungent airs,
That forebode unmitigated fairs of disbelieving fears:
Promontory offenses on useless appeals of time.
Their loves built towers up on wide hollow fields
Ridiculously validated by dunes of instability
While overtly knowing the futility.
The piece de resistance: a diluted menage a trois,
Fineries reduced to relativities as filthy insectoids raided
Their tarnished crafts of mortifying indulgences.
Thinking their hidden flesh decaying underneath
Would provoke disbelieving holds of noses,
Whilst they’d run and click their tongues, a tut-tut,
Wanting to believe they could be loved; a grimaced hilarity.
Yellow sea memorandums,
Writ by enumerated acrostic methods,
Profiled with evaporating ball point pens,
Recorded methodically in tandem,
Sum up to zero absolutes.
Crumbs settled in bottled up rums
From chrysanthemum reductions,
Slid onto rows inside sad emporiums
Within decadent mausoleums
Decorated by faux skies inside planetariums.
Petroleum fires extinguished
Near truth battered lies,
Succumb to escapisms
Fueled by those seeking freedoms
From under the thumbs of scums
Called lovers, the originators,
Stewing in padded vats of bacterium.
Convecting inside captivating
Dapples reflected on rivulet dreams
Hypnotically undulating within
Devouring dissonant flections
Cautiously noting the mind’s receding ebb,
Drawn tides start to analyse what could be baryonic
Baryogenesis. Nearly tangible composite matter, a
Caustic reminder of how mind controlled fingers left me daunted.
Entreaties written in order to salvage my newfound motif,
Envelope me in irrefutable mysterious nebulaic puff.
Extended exposure or optical filters inspire
Extricated colours of nuanced diaphora,
Commonly referred to as love. As descended
Euphoric waves disdainfully entertain the beguiled.
Her fate was determined
The moment I started writing
I condemned her soul
From the very beginning.
The sea extended
Acting as an apparatus
It’s only in writing
I bare the filthy insides
I’m not supposed to share.
So I hide in plain sight
While in the darkness.
While hate filled words
Drivel and form these verses.
But they don’t know
The thing about magic
Is that it’s only impressive
When you can’t see the illusion.
But she knew.
Some of the darkness.
She could still love it
Despite shattered illusions.
Was I allowed to
Think even for a moment
I could be loved
Despite the things I’ve written.
When I am so
Undeserving of it.