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.


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.

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.

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.

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?”

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

“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.”

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

Nest of Birds

Yields of a restructured bird’s quasi
Nest woven with gapes within it
At a particular pace by the head
Maleficent fortune teller pest, as expected pomelo
Excrements filled them to the brim, sans
Organisations in incubations in releases for breaking in
Connections with a splattering crack, would stem
Promptly from contact out from a digitised diorama
Upon these hopeful dreamlike states that
Were jostled in haste when, sadly, little birdies almost,
But lacked the most optimal vision, squarely laid their,
(Twaddling), very much wanted eggs.