A yet horrible, still untitled, extremely rough draft:
Harmony coextending (Neptunian universe)
Silent screaming, arrhythmic dance
Essence falling on the eaves of equipoise
Bearing arrows, scold apathy
vivify; rescariate: petrichor!
Thunder arousing as the scent of a lover...
left on my skin; consoling my heart to
¿Es un mojón, no?
"The true genius shudders at incompleteness, preferring silence to everything that it should be." Edgar Allen Poe
"There's a magic inside,
Just waiting to burst out.
There world is a goldmine-
That will melt tomorrow."M83
I have traveled millions of miles to stand in the nebulous fields of Neptune as they move around me and burn my skin off,
to sink like a rock dropped in the ocean
upon the vaporizing winds of Pluto as I drown and smile in glee
I am a new breed they say ambassador
Because I stand as I die and dematerialize as if I am going no where at all, as if I will be here tomorrow, to greet you
but all that will truly be here is the horizon
an endless mazarine
that will smile too
as it fades
just like me
"i shut the door and in the morning
it was open
Olemn slammed his hammer and from the sparks on the metal of his anvil came the spheres of the heavens.
Sayrah blew life into the spheres and they moved. From her wheel she weaved the names of people in to mystery.
My favorite poems are very concrete, often scary adventure stories. Two of them are about pirates. They're nothing like this old dog.
I am karoshi,
dead from overwork.
I am the private detective
hiding noise-canceling earbuds
under the over-wide brim of his hat,
listening to the theme from
"Kiss Me Deadly"
to set a hard-boiled mood
as he dusts for prints alone.
Absorbed, he misses
the killer's footstep and a
clicking sound behind his neck.
The chalk outline around
his corpse will fit him like
the fine suits on which
he blew his paychecks in life.
Our hero is reborn as
one of those peacocks that roam
loose in the San Diego Zoo,
fanning jeweled feathers for
child tourists and then
skittering away when those
children chase. God's real test:
will he run the same way
from the peahens?
If he cannot brave intimacy,
this reincarnation will be his last.
Where a soul is banished from
the cycle of death and rebirth,
he finds a void without sight,
ground, touch, scent or sound.
Only the aftertaste of a
moderately-priced cigar remains.
his physique has been reduced
to a disembodied mouth.
I am the idea of the stars.
Turn the projector off,
and the heavens fade to black.
Turn on the fluorescent lights
and see the resin gray petals
of the planetarium dome.
The room is smaller than
to be in the dark.
4w5 6w7 1w2 sx/sp ⏩ ISFP
RLOAX (don't do it) ⏩ Melancholic Hufflepuff
A lonely island where only what is permitted to move moves, becomes an ideal. Jung