The Next Space

She flitted away into the thin air, leaving
Traces of her ice-white flames
Where a quite quaint kiosk stood quietly
She gave me a smile as she said, “Come and follow me.”
The closest simile I can think of to describe her intonation,
Consists of: like she knew of something I didn’t know of.

When she shone, again, at the nexus
Like she said she would, she then left.
Leaving me, right here, with no way
To reach the next space, I
Frantically sought after her sanctity,
But I can’t seem to remember,
Where or when it was, when I asked
Myself; Isn’t it enough that I saw her,
That I found her again and again,
To prove to my brethren of my not insanity?

When I knew that it wasn’t.
Because the last time I’d nearly
Convinced them mystical beings existed.

Advertisements

Passed

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.

Didn’t Know

Within noxious magic stag nations,
On a pathway called 4D Avenue
Various dragons successfully dragged
Jostling hostiles who crazily sensed
Each uninformed truth, intuited into
Loosened muscles, to a venue
Not far from this now. Nervous futures
Invocations call forth aches inside rooms,
Kinesthetically felt, despite the fact that their
Carnivorous mandibles dissipated from view
Long before synaptic modulations.

To Have Known

So he approaches the dancing gouda cheese
Drapery, hyperextending, wrapping, and flapping
So garishly, swathing his bare skin thrillingly,
Separating the beer and skittles realm
He’s so deep within from a resting reality’s
Definition of choices, where he couldn’t really
Choose, especially when knowing tangible atoms
Could, and would, vanish right in front of him.

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.”

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.

Thin Ice

“You assume.”
Blurk says, with the words’ connotations
Hidden away inside context.
Grorg assumes, chooses to
Take a risk instead of asking for clarification,
Carrying on with the conversation,
“Can’t you see I did this for you.”

Blurk grits her teeth, she’s fuming, she tries to quell
The searing anger bubbling up inside,
But her voice is laced with hate,
“Despite all that, it was you who just
Decided and went, it was you who just got up and left.”

Grorg’s self-imposed sacrifice won’t suffice as justification,
Not to Blurk, not in this moment in time.

The benefits that came along
With Grorg’s departure
Remained a secret she had
Been unwilling to impart,
Not even when she felt
Grateful as a consequence,
Because she had been convinced
There must have been a better way.

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.”

Commentaries

They rove against the barren terrain
That hold an appearance
Close to scaled slated tile rooves,
Climbing over the edges of inclinations,
Stuck in the crevasses of glitchy objects.

Bugs swarm in clouds of punctuations,
Specifically in their antithetical constitution,
Lost to dimensions where they’d disambiguate.

Data (filtered),
Stimuli (uncatalogued),
Where the attentive, conversely
Focused on pathless destinations;
Lexes cold heartedly categorized into “Unimportant”.

Reciprocal commentaries on the order
Take place as they’d pray, sedated
By the fact that faulty maps
Didn’t display their location.

Checked Realities

Grimaces plastered on grimy water basket cases,
Meander, search, and grasp at twiny string dolls
Gandering stringently at lettered arcane whorls on the floor
“Now, where did this lead, this peculiar thing..?”, seethingly
Inquiring within warring memories; where every word,
Listlessly given and taken, was not felt any more than
How gusty dreams were had unknowingly.
Yet they’d cling to these invisible clothesline strings.