Mechanized zombies with peas for brains,
Waddle in this iridescent planetary conservatory,
Toddle, rather, wandering through deviant roads,
Where regulatory disturbances couldn’t be
Heard or known when they hadn’t roamed
Then gained the present of experience,
Despondently wishing garish pathways
Became evident to sight, to regale, instead.


The Problems

Rainbow unicorn deities cry
While they spittle nocuous things,
Where lizards’ gizzards, along
With other batches of torn innards,
Were strewn across nicely tiled floors,
Dying unglazed porcelain clays on
That insipid day of waning crescents
When blitzing seals with consternation
Gravely decided to peacefully pluck
The sun’s ray for evolutionary reasons, or
For creation’s purpose, albeit within
The fifth dimension where even known
Latent conclusions stayed on lit lasered screens
Displaying insignias that might have represented: delta.

Somehow, Someway

Quite errant simplifications tickle
Dozens of anti-players feasting on fares
We used to call pumpernickel, where
Purifications were cast by stars
That would a twinkle in edification,
While we’d search, content, for the numerical
Values in nullifications, identifications
Trickling far from personifications,
Petrified by wraiths, and their deifications,
Carrying fickle wormhole hearts, physiologically.

Rectifications of wide refractions
Within solidifications of geodes,
Where connected bacterium rose
From aberrant displays of fucking sickle cell anemias.

Their News

Heaving breaths, stuttering exhalations, think to grab gadgets
Near crazed cabrits cracking dammed walls of sheer reflective screens,
Temeraroius creaks eerily leak. They speak; “It’ll last about a year or so we think.”
Extrications awaiting to seep through unmitigated constraints, as they’d weep,
Inconsolably at absurdities, parched and lost, unable to turn back home.

Allaying their fears in discoveries of disappearing loves by utilising techs that
Overtook their cognitions, only after they shook off merits in their
Inertia, scrunched up, while raising broad notions of the dead.

The Risk

Loathsome gastropods housed in sea urchin shells
Resist meticulously venturing through alternate universes
While restlessly aware it would do them well
To advance spaces with shelters disembarked
Traversing through whorls into alternative worlds
By risking the, must have been, slight chance
They’d find the asterisk planets they sought.

Disparaged stars would guide their tentacle eyes,
While they’d all blindly flop in their own ridicule.


“Did you know
That centaurs argue like children?”

“Really? In what way?”,
My comrade’s face scrunches.

“Ya, their responses usually have
Consisted of, ‘Nay, t’was you.”

She lets the information sit for a bit
While trying to stomach it,
Tossing a six pence,

“That’s terrible. The same
Centaurian herds that throw, in alternation,
Those large mechanized stone beaded weapons
When battling three tailed tauruses
(Their arch nemeses), that are
Worn deceptively as necklaces?”

She stares blankly up, standing still,
From beneath the oak tree
From which we’re collecting bark,
Taking the moment, I remark, “The
Very same, they must be aware
That there are—“

She dreamily interjects,
“No, there must be a galactic reason
They’d speak so nonsensically..”

She pauses pensively, I wait for her to finish
Her thought, “Maybe it was just
During those moments,
Those specific moments,
When they felt they had been
Cornered and believed, maybe they knew,
That other kinds of airs didn’t exist when they’d
Lose themselves in losing arguments.”


Enveloped in awe they’d watch
Earthen moats inundated
With brine that gently sprout
Out from the back of enchanted palms
As they rose fluffy doe eyed creatures,
Approximately the size of clementines,
That were then knowingly dropped in.

The intrepid look to noisy applicators,
Afraid this was the last time,
Afraid that they wouldn’t be
Able to swim through tepid aquas,
In order to heed their decrees
Where they, in acquiescence,
Wondered how fates would bend,
Then sadly said, “We don’t believe”.

As they unintrepidly cried,
“Just stay here
With me..        please.”

Because they couldn’t see
Their distant reasoning.

“Uncertainty is just a part of life.”
They reactively deadpanned,
At which they spat, “fuck you, you shats.”

The Last Greed

Serfs tearily sow fields at dawn with no water on a reef,
Mercurially, sweating profusely, by aligned clusters of cacti,
Unanimously called for the useful season’s plummeting rain,
Recalling seethingly, puddles that weren’t savored down to the
Tiniest drop, whilst unsure what effects the toxic alkali
Had on parched bodies; arguing inside made formations of cochlea
On orreries after receding, wrapped inside their only known summit.

Her Departure

For a moment of brevity in perpetuality
Luminescent spores revealed to me
Her countenance, underscored
By her turning away as she placidly
Strode at a pace free of care,
The distance could only have
Been at an arm’s length, spatially,
So I got up, very carefully
To chase after her copy, the space..I
Swear, it–it extended infinitely.

She placates with a whisper, “You don’t care.”
She knows, she sees the same thing
“Why is it that you can’t see
That I have been chasing constantly”,
My voice, indifferently, doesn’t reach her.

She’s left this, our, place, without warning,
We both once named Blushing Bromeliad,
Where poking pointed tulips coexisted on lily pads
When I had gathered countless wasted spores
Just to see her rudimentary form a bit more with clarity,
This forsaken place where illuminated contrails
Flowed freely in anointed negative spaces
That dissipated with every surge of motion.


But it’s as if she’s stopped listening.