Thursday, April 25, 2013

"Superliminal"

The first words to which I would
ascribe more than I ever could
are laid neatly as follows
in a serial calm, static within the
everlashing storm by relative motion
of my center to my now within
infinite axes of evil

For an immaleable plaque marking
what should be a gravesite reads
in unison with the new, young scribes
who were born without hope
I beckon her to read from the
superliminal excitatory songs of
malice while remembering a plea to
remember silence, or, true love

Organs take turns screaming out
childish rumors of a promised perfection
One that not until I reach an
unseen restoration can be risked to
risk - the message is, you could
have had it all. You could have
needed no more messages, a lovely
nihil to share

And mine rings untrue by virtue
of desiring virtues I claim to
be self-righteously inhuman by the
forces of my own humanity

By this, I hope you have lost
track as have I, I hope you
sigh as she must sigh in my
eye the day-to-day as I
cry instead of die

"Sonetto 1"

After all my dreams are through
All the thought that remains is you
Soon I see all the shades of blue
Soon there is nothing I can do

The dreams persist into the day
To remember them there is no way
Wishing I were at the bay
Not any way I am today

I must, I must always flee
These states in which I do not choose to be

"Meddling with Death" (3/7/13)

(uh, pretty sure I wrote this after arriving home from the hospital. even more schizophrenic than the others. enjoy!)

Command your guards fall asunder
those of balance and betrayal
and it shall be that all reigns
free in a kingdom of infinite
Kill the king, all hail the Spring
But the decrees stand tall and
hold you to a wall
Until a vacuum inside keeps
static the Fall - all seems lost,
but not at all
A silent wish for death falls
upon silent foes
A desperate turn for upheaval
and a yearning for less
You are still my sorceress
and nothing below non-expectations
can touch you
Forever I doubt my mortality
until I hear your voice
Forever I doubt my voice
until I die
Sowing the spurting sprouts of
none other than the future
and no more nor less than
every change is the
eternal path, visible,
harvestable, invisible, arid
These arid waters filled my spine
unencumbered while the stream of
everflowing joy forks hourly
I die for you, you my construct,
happenstance, perfection anti-incarnate
My sacrifice is for no one -
sacred, artificial self-annihilation
I promise - this will be the last
I foresee the decade full of
lasting appeal and infinite blanks
shot too slowly out of my flora
Floored by my dishonesty shall
I proclaim victor
In the poor man's race to completion
Talking to you is a spell
that dispels all evil, that
must be checked in the tome
until downregulating all words
The value of feeling dies every
time I close the book