Parakeets

Stocked cells of humanoid parakeets,
Sporadically surmised to be discreet, are
Stowed in order by their temperaments,
Tactically suppressed ordnances inside
Hidden dungeons are exposed as flocks
Roam in blinding membraned stupor.

Shooting currents conducted by controls
Gone haywire, of pressures that exceeded
Thresholds, starkly watered down, metalloid
Bars of rattling cages are overlooked for semiotic
Patterns of emanations inside multiplicities;
Disowned. They gush, pouring out in globs of
Charred multitudes within coded venerations.

Disorientation

Is it possible to fall in love with probabilities,
To fall in love with a soul that’s a maybe,
To fall in love with intangible realities.

Then why is it that I have fallen
For the just barely.

These semblances
Keep resonating inside
Archaic echoes of concentric conceptions
Of discomforting dazes in ecstasies
Where eyes of a deranged criminal cackled
Then cracked in crippling dins of
Dined vehement emanations.

Integrations of cyclical motions
Deduced as fragments of
Kaleidoscopic ignitions.

Still,
With her nonexistent voice,
She urges:
“Push”,
Within exceeded pain thresholds
In jolts of crumbling lulls.

The Cost of Belief

There was a time I believed
In a fantasy place.
I built a temple on
Corinthian orders
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.

But eventually,
In disbelief, I
Watched the wrecking ball
Of objective participants
Demolish the columns
I had sculpted with
Time and attention
Instantaneously,
Left in ruin.

I won’t build temples again.

I wish
You had chosen life instead.
I had wanted to see magic
At least once.

-Sabs-