Transient compassions forging treaties
at intermission
of old and new worlds of difference. The
malarky man
smiles. Outside the steeple’s chase of
heaven a crow
grows smarter everyday. Doubt is raised
to a level it’s
never seen before the flood of insights
into the laps
of bystanders. All but eligible to
foresee fleeting nature
flee into smoke as the sandman takes it
against the
grain. Putting the whole battalion at
risk of confirming
the existence of perfection between the
lines. Time
struck a little woozy in a holding of
the pose, as the
manic frustrations amount to a wicker
basket of laundry
at the doorstep of the naked truth. The
generalissimo
concurring even as the tawdry details
accrue to his
moustache, melting like glaciers on a
chamber of
commerce day. And before you know it the
dog is off
his leash and all hell’s breaking loose
into song for
the people forever wandering the
melody’s
fraught fitful way.
Austere
Parsimony bends ill begotten cranky over
time
squeezed into presence minding pennies
on the
floor. A stupor’s significance measured
in snow
drifts towards thinking it’s cold where
alter’s ego
lives. Flibberty giblets stuffing
strange birds. Aging
ephemerae in search of lasting gasps,
from a
wheeze’s narration of the moment.
Temporal
intrigue. Bundled up in blooming
episodes, fitting
nature to nurture’s slow slog to blame.
A primer
on relativity in passage, cutting short
to the quick.
Lopping hours off into the presence.
Past getting
over under suspicion of being
potentially, in all its
svelte caress. Rolling through
consequence
thinning the air of importance. The
weather’s
curtain falling for clarity. Code words
for not going
there, where else is just as liable for
the ethereal
state of affairs in the realm of
possibility. Of a
depth charged with oblivion’s well
being, able to
blot any memory of the interminable
brevity.
Striving to extend the sorely shrivelled
into play
the fool, for yet another violin lending
gravitas to
curtain calls of commonality in the pry
of eyes.
The peek-a-boo where are you going as
gone the
way of saying that me is mine all over
the news.
At
the Count of Three
Playing possum to a draw. Born wizened
as prune
plumb forgetful of the sway of an
interminable sea.
A tertiary cog in a fiddle lesson.
Noblesse obliged to
share a secret’s odds, of growing common
as the dirt
allows a seed of assertion. An ember’s
ploy of seminal
sparks, promoting a warmth of the hearth
in model
homes for tenants of the dream. A
sitting position on
affairs of the heart. Ameliorated with
distance.
Contextual slope to soften the
insurgence of space.
Behind the scenes made in public,
bringing those looks
along to wipe clean of suspicion,
remembered as the
culprit in the hurry to come full circle
to better see.
Franchising the carrot for the stick’s
stake in holding
dinner down, to nourishing hopes
flickering in an
ambivalent repose of painted tomorrows.
In relativity’s
purge of landmarks. Oft indicted but
slowly assimilated
colors taking a splash as their destiny,
in a sea of dark
and light offerings at the altar of
denial. In slippery
succession scolding the sequence with a
blur. In the
greasy heat of interlocking alibis, for
time served
growing tall enough to see over the
verbiage
into both fact and friction of the fog.
Vacation
School
Stubbornly
ecclesastical biologies pumping stardust through tunnels of love and loathing
lacing the wobble in perfect spheres. Contemplatively visceral alchemy brooding
potions of mystery made plain in surrender to the formula. A sequential route
to bypassing a plastic muck of living unattended on one’s own great fortune of
time, diced ever inward down to a moment from which to jump as the world sinks
into what it has long deserved. Into a milky froth surrendering to the
effervescence of nucleic epitomes surfing the pedestal safely ashore. Dooming
omissions in the grumbling to echo all the louder for the missing what it feels
like to be superfluously real.
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