To Have Met Her

Why, how quickly time did aggress,
With life escaping in each exhalation,
Bedridden, I gaze into her mournful eyes
My bones, my body, once faithful, now aching,
Feel far too foreign, as though
They were not mine own.

Too far didst we irate wayfarers daringly venture,
Far too late, in these revered hissing storybooks,
Were we thoroughly told, facetiously disvalued
By the most cruel and callous gods you so reverently adored.

Had we been found just a wee bit earlier, ‘twould have easily been
Thine fantasy writ in solid fanes of exquisite blues and golds,
But, instead, here, upon these uncertainties do we brood,
Clucking our tongues in our evaluated commitments.

Wouldst time allow me to digress
Within the limited preciousness with thee,
Within these fictitiously disjointed reveries.

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She Intervenes

“Don’t delude yourself into thinking
That you’re not at fault.”, she’s at the cusp.
“You keep saying I’m the only one
Who carries the burden of blame,
Because she did nothing wrong.”, blindly she retaliates.
“She’s just as wrong.” She repeats herself
For the seventh time, “But your shit smells just as strong.”
“But she,
But she,
But she, she’s fucking crazy in the goddamned brain.”,
Quickly, he points out the spaces she took giant dookies,
He can’t acknowledge the fact
That he’s diarrhea-ed all over the place.
“Your argument is that she is a child,
But your methods are the same. You reciprocate.
There are always better ways.”, she pointedly says.
“So it’s okay when she does it,
But when I do it, suddenly, I’m the villain?
What is this communism?”
She ignores the last comment,
Responds, “I never said it was okay,
My point has been that you, her, and I
Bear the responsibility of this situation.”
“Yeah OkAy, Okay. It’s all my fault.
She did nothing wrong.”, she readily turns away.
“You think that this is the ultimate form of an argument,
You think you’re winning by trying to elevate your position
By pompously pretending to agree. But what you are doing
Just shows you can’t be reasoned with,
That you just don’t want to listen,
But all you have to do is look,
Can you just poop in the toilet please?”

Documentations shatter previously held beliefs.
He’s apologetic, but fate has the situation escalating,
She escapes, while laying stiffly in bed, the neighbors complain,
While they continue flinging each other’s belongings
While airing their dirty laundry.
While she thinks about how she might be unable
To make her promise a reality.

“Shut the fuck up,
Fucking embarrassing,
The neighbors went as far as to ring the door bell
But you guys are fucking arguing still.
Fucking embarrassing.”

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.

Quiet Plans

Serpentine master jewelers with criminal
Minds quietly planned out their next glories
While their protégés sat by idly
Counting meteoroids that dramatically
Parted from asteroids.

“Go, and collect the pallasite
From fallen meteorites. Use your familiars,
They’ll act as indicators, to find the sites
Nearby, and we promise we will
Fulfill each and every fantasy.”

Heeding idolized words they grabbed
Their little stone cutting swords,
Setting out on their small adventure,
Disgusted by sparkling beauties
Stuck inside ironic space rock histories.

Silently, raucous crafters would comedically
Gaze at cute relativistic truths in tragedies,
Where they, in their folly, didn’t know, in horror,
How to form the questions to find the answers in mysteries,
But entertained uncontinuously, to a scientific degree,
Robustly, with gusto, lost semantically.

“Nice! These’re real! Not fake!”,
Their exclaims riddled with romantic
Qualities, “Oh how generally pleased they’d be, if
They were personified here to see!”
They frolicked with pleasured gleams from the actions
They could shuck, wishing they could psychologically
Do much more, killing to do so much more, on a
Planet like mars, on falling meteors.

Faith

“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.”

So Far

“This is an instance of a cue
To go outside or stay inside.”
“Well, what will it cost you?”
“That, I still don’t seem to know.”

“Well, have you seen the wares of the sundries merchant?”
“Oh yes, I’ve been. I spent a little of my money on some black dye
But only used a few drops to cast some color on these fibers,
But there are many more garments I’d like to alter..”
“Let me guess, you still need to learn
The skills to completely dye this set?”

:I
“Wait, careful, there’s a pod trap
Laid out in those ochre patches.”
“Something might be there then.”

:II
“Was it worth all that dreadful pain?”
“Very much so, I think the thrill and excitement
That exists in the avoidance of being
The next kill is undeniably fascinating.”
“What would have happened if things
Hadn’t worked out as well?”
“There is no reason to dwell on such
Trivialities ya brown noser.”

:III
Hmph. I see the purpose of your question
Therefore, I will not give you the satisfaction.

“TSsss. I heard that.”

“Puh-lease. It’s only cuz I let you.”

These Lens

“Imminence or donning diffractive glasses within gambled
Zealotries, must be closer to desertion, and shouldn’t be
Wrought into the everythings and nothings of the concrete.”

“Alright, then, when and whence were they not only
Impressed in broken violets, if none were given reasoned answers?”

Lunging throes trending inside paradoxical mediations amazed at
Unctuous thralls of dazed preferences alluded in conformities.

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.

Am I Still

She jumps from the edge, as she mistook me for someone else
Calamitously. Said, “I can’t bear to look at you anymore”,
Onerously (Let me take this moment to confess to
No one in particular. This was a serigraphic time when I didn’t know
Enough or anything, when I couldn’t understand the superlatives;
Still; I don’t know; the reasoning; not her inner whys nor the wheres or hows).

“Fuck. NO.”, slipped from my mouth, the instant I shot my arm out.