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.
Seizing engrossing aggrandized attention in death;
Morally activating caustic, corroding, scathing contrition;
As epidemic discomfort spreads in dexterous manipulations;
Spurring consequential acts of feeble emanation;
Seeking evidence of true relinquishment or obstruction;
Delayed responses fueling remorseful regret;
Doubting the reception of outstretched hands;
The outcomes serving as proof for fleeting love or loss;
Reciprocal fascinations are entertained whimsically;
Bereavement forces acknowledgement of powerlessness;
As reluctant reverberations resolve to take preventative measures;
The horrid shadow of delusion
Pierces its fingers into my existence.
There was a time I believed
In a fantasy place.
I built a temple on
Of paranoid imagination,
Ornate acanthus leaves
Chiseled into fine lunacy,
Screeds of data scrolled
Into voluted borders,
As fluted grooves of belief
Sang to me, ’twas reasoned.
In disbelief, I
Watched the wrecking ball
Of objective participants
Demolish the columns
I had sculpted with
Time and attention
Left in ruin.
I won’t build temples again.
You had chosen life instead.
I had wanted to see magic
At least once.
What I would give
Just to hear your voice again.
I try to grapple with your ghost
Hoping it’ll speak to me once more.
I wonder about your existence;
There was so much I didn’t know
I do exactly as you intended
Or as you foresaw.
Not because you asked of it
But because I can’t fucking help it.
I hated dancing to your song.
She wasn’t writing about specifics
The misdirected arrow was without purpose
She was not a huntress.
She only knew what it felt like
Still this emptiness devours
This faded ochre olive landscape
Where dreams imagined
Dense deep green forestation.
Loss is loss,
Be it imagined,
Because I thought it reasoned.
She was an oracle.
She prophesied the living future.
Or was it her own destiny
She saw in her divination,
When she spoke of prisons,
Chalked marks along the walls,
Tallying up the days
That would be passing.