So They’d Bet

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.



Biomechanical butterflies of two dimensional
Stained glass wings, once doused in transparent
Crackled enamels, rest on the edge of a gigantic
Mirror. Appearing and disappearing in delicate
Controlled momentums in avoidance of gusty
Breezes that threaten their peaceful harmonies.

Semicircle distances of disambiguities shown in
Reddish hazes from asymmetric greys; fluttering;
Dispersing massive ensembles at waters falling in
Muted splashing noises from a parted river’s want.

Blend In

Personalities of identifications
Synonymously chameleon
In between blended sceneries.

An emphatic bidirectional brushstroke
Is easily noticed
In unidirectional stroked paintings.

Empathetic rituals of dissonance’s;
Discordance against acceptances;
Wallflowers or wildflowers;
Differences and similarities;

Dualistic gains and losses in choices
Of speaking or remaining unspoken.



Attempts to vary exemplary notations
Requires compensation to rebuild edifices
From the fabrics of foundations.
It necessitates:
Astute attention to hidden structures
Of the other’s fundamentals of perception
Which can only be procured through
The passing of time in confessions
Made accidentally; vaguely or distinctly;
Focusing on points made from occident to orient,
Keeping tabs on distortions and moments of sagacity;
Replacing porcelain pillars for metal beams
Carrying materials required to flip a scheme,
While the holder of the toppling monument
Finds blissful escape in preconceived rubrics.

While there is value
For memory, determination, patience,
For proficiency, exploration, and experience,
Trying to completely rebuild landmarks
Carefully built from a life being lived
Does not equate to time, effort, or energy well spent.



Abundant alliterations acting as accusations
Are affronted as accommodations;
Baseless bitterness bear boorish
Benefactors bitten beyond boredom;
Countless cyclic circumferences
Confound calculated circumstances;
Deafening discontented drivel
Demand divergent dictations;
Embittered enraged eruptions
Endanger embrittled encumbrances;
Fiercely fervent forbearance’s
Fickly folding feeble furor;
Gaining garish glares governing
Grotesque garnished grievances;

Of human kind.


By Some

Sidelining the shadows
Cautioned hesitance causes
A dip of a limb
Into pools lit in luminescence.
A feeble lane line is supplied
Inquiring as an extension
As its buoyancy acts
As mystical ley lines
Sinking under scrutiny.
Overexposure to ultraviolet rays
Burns the outer epidermal layer
Forcing us back to our den.

Understanding is no longer necessary.
Even if they may be soliloquies,
To be granted a moment of brevity
In the suns flickering radiant gaze
By some passersby,
Is more than enough.


Swirl and Flatter

Seraphs glide down from capes
In the forefront of our vision
As auburn violet hues
Paint the background.
Floating, soaring, rising
In slow motion,
Wings rise and fall,
They swirl and flatter
Their performance.

They goad us
With their perfumed hair;
Scents that taint
The purified oxygen.
They beam
Their sun ray smiles
That wash over
In searing
Thermal waves.
Their radiant
Bejeweled eyes
Sparkle and twinkle
Within the reluctant,
Buffeting mine.

“Play hide and seek with us.”
Lasciviously they laugh;
Sounds the heavens
Once knew;
Now covet;
Rhythmic honeyed voices
Thump in tympanic chambers
Softly caressing
Spiral labyrinths
Sending soothing,
Melting shivers,

Actually, they’re everywhere,
On every god forsaken landscape,
In every sphere of the spectrum air.

Sentence them to purgatory
Or to eternal damnation.
Separate them
From the rest of us;
Those with weak wills,
Who misplace our wits
Constantly falling
Into pits of lava.


At Least it Lives

I dream of his soulful music,
Of him still creating,
Piano concertos,
Violin and piano duets,
Suites for a quartet.
A fugue for harpsichords,
Or partias for clarinets.
Variations, fusions, mixes,
New age, Classical,
Visions into probability.

Even if
They are not
Made by his hand,
At least it lives,
Possessed in figures
Behind keyboards
Pressed by fingers
Of various writers.

Ones less flashy
Others more.
Some bleeding
Like he had before.
Some healing.

But their knowledge
Of worlds connected by inseams
In their quest for cathartic release
Pulsating, gyrating
Convecting, transmuting
The quest in knowing
The adventure in living
The thirst for inspiring
The desire for change
The yearning of love
The warmth of encouragement
They have it
They read
They write it
With derelict duty.

So many words.
So many bodies.
Worlds colliding.

Isn’t it amazing
Isn’t it disgusting.

A different soul,
A different style,
The seemingly infinite stimuli that are encountered,
How many of them were pretty much the same,
In what ways did they differ,
What lesson was taught or learned,
In which order?
What observations were made,
What was something one held close,
While another thought made no difference?
What words hold semantic significance
So many variables spinning, spiraling,
So many variations,
But somehow,
Not so different.

But it simply
Isn’t the same.

They aren’t him.