From The Afterlife

Demeritorious occurrences of shamanistic
Negligences in perceptive perspectives swapped to
Unanimously negated perspicuous red veils that met at the
Rolls of the underworld’s drums in lived differentiations
Allotted to perspicaciousness in the still perceived: counters
Worn in constantly having to uphold hardy established defenses.

Excessively outwitting the negligible that threw
Solvents; actions that never really seemed to dissolve the
Biogenic oozes the dead imperviously kept summoning.



Just Isn’t Enough

Types of touchless expressions layered
On red exoskeletons when they reached the exosphere,
Conjuring historical archives on glossy screens, going up
Articulated thermodynamic scenes, through past lives
Liabilities within christened thermospheric times
Lost in not so distant meteoric realities.

Brilliant wonders searching for what one found in
The other, disintegrating yearnings at the mesosphere
Proportionately connected into lettered stratospheres,
Their arthropodic bodies strategically strapped into cushy seats,
Prevented their teleportation abilities,
Powerless in their adorably disappointed
Tiny android anthropomorphic forms, sobbing,
Lamenting, apologetically at etude tropes that surmounted
To breathing difficulties, unrelenting at tropospheric altitude peaks.

A Thing

Somewhere, a thing
Finds solace in the ordered
Spell bindings, carelessly.

For fear was a thing
That existed within
Mirrored kinds.

Vision only grants access
To the wanted.
The wanted = bratlings,
While the novel
Becomes the next
Sought out encounter.

So a thing, trembles
When they say:
Speak to me please,
While reflections in the past
Cried out their shame.

For a thing’s words spoke more
Than a thing might intend,
While a thing saw much less.

Hopeful pleas that would
Then fall by its self.

While a thing
Finds pleasure in
Filling up senses
Without knowing how
To do it.
Without knowing how
Well it could please.


The outer circumferential visage
Of isles laden with iridescent ores
Stained in champagnes and marines
In glimmering idiosyncratic meanderings
Surrounding nitrogenous asphyxiations
Of igneous deposits bent in silicon sheens
In plausible replications; seditiously contoured
Altercations met in disfigured capabilities
Exchanged in electronic measures whittled in biases.

Unraveling fates in magicks or in numbers
Within fabrications once anointed: reviled.

Unable to cast vapours, sans-senses,
Of the catalyst and its manifestations
Absolving it as wishful resonances.


He knew.
He knew this would happen.
He knew I’d look for him.
He knew I’d give up.

Did he know that would piss me off;
That, that would be the drive
That would keep me searching
These dimly lit roads
Flash luminescent memories
In passing highway posts;
That I would turn right at
The next fork in the road,
Past the blaring yellow caution sign
He merrily rote
To ward the weary
From nebulated cliffs,
While used
To draw in marauder’s
Just like Tom.

What does his map
Of the human condition

Is it knowledge?
Was it coincidence?

How did he know.


Shattered Illusions

Her fate was determined
The moment I started writing
I condemned her soul
From the very beginning.

The sea extended
Between us
Acting as an apparatus
Of separation.

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.
She saw
Some of the darkness.
This soul,
This disgusting
Filthy thing,
Human being,
And claimed
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.