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Tuesday, November 29, 2011

poems || Felino A. Soriano




Various Tessellations 10

—after Robert Glasper Trio’s Mood



Apparent remorse
the
spinning language of octagonal connections,
syllables etch into
sporadic fulfillment
answering collector’s modulations and

emotional friction of spatial recompense.


Various Tessellations 11

—after Wassily Kandinsky’s painting, Composition VII



Occupied space, the inexorable
inversion (comparable oracle of desolate disbelief (comprehended, Socrates))

funneled versions
too, of
nonsensical pathways jammed into
disregarded fathoms’ self-portrait denial of

syncopated heirlooms left of dust-etched fingering histories

whose hammering, helix remorse (inversion echo)

sought demeanor though damaged unconditional

surrendered vacuum of solid pretense, afterward of logical faith

portends then
soil into hygienic altering of the hands’
division of forthcoming architectural synonyms.


Various Tessellations 12

—after the moment I interpreted sound



Music, though unyet dimension.

Callus
into mind the
sojourn altercation immanent dialectic twisting gnarls of

relayed inconvenience:

questioned personal
qualitative persuasion

such force then softened removal of opacity’s clever constant covering of

the mind’s allegorical disposition. My
rusted feet began their

swollen happiness.
Merged.

Slices of crossed hallways, eliminating illuminations of the
others’ vocal definitions of
articulated callowness. Subjects identify relocated habits.
Visions.

Bridged improvisations, burdened empirical newness
now and
nuanced renditions of vocalizing entities crisscrossing momentum of gradated

affirmations, squared.


Various Tessellations 13

—after Duane Locke’s poem, SOUTH WIND



Interior fear composing
heretic
composure of nihilistic virtues,
compound modulations
sway
sing
endeavor
trilogy of saxophone’s battling
personas:

rhythmic interpretations of
stylized self against
silent chambers
containing unyet interiors of decorated mirrors.


Various Tessellations 14

—after Friedrich Nietzsche’s quote: “I do not know how to draw any distinction between tears and music.”



Fortune the
inherited realism of bountiful resuscitation. A burial of branded fulcrums
isolate swivels amid accurate depictions:

of the hand
the hand of needing momentum to
aggregate freshened soil of time’s
succinct diversions
cultural dependencies
sedentary abstractions

cultivating pluralized synonyms and
mobile readability the
persuasion insists, depicts.

Sadness, nor the positional curtails of rhythmic misery
supposed in the fabric of skeletal composure
does personal compartments of
vocalized inheritance of musical

incarnation.

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