Poetry Lounge: Symphonic Cacophony
(The best parts of unfinished works)
FINGERS tensed closed tighly make a journey
quite rehearsed. Sinewy ripples release
explosive rhythms massive sweat emersed. Quickly
rushing, mapping veins deliver heartfelt beats.
Skin smoothe and flawless glisten, intertwines
in body heat. Oscar would be Wilde. Your fortress
he would covet...THE truth of our world, the
incredible lies. Of other world leaders and people
who die. I find their words sticky, their words
wax and wane. Disinformation more strengthens our
pain. Doublespeak of glories, never more sweet. Which
threat can we run from or comfortably greet. That
of the sky or that of the ground? To ears, Illuminus
hands give us our sound...TREES: toilet paper, coffee
filters, oxygen, dioxin. Paper: bleached blondes,
bleached flour, bleached earth. Whiteness: white
sale, whitehouse, white wash, white noise...I stand at
the Fall. The leaves carry me. Whirling over fences.
Hope will marry me. The breezes lifting higher. My
carriage to the sky. To dip again and tumble...
SHARED thoughts, emotions. True to the end. Once we
spoke of philosophic and philanthropic idioms, only
memories remain. Looking at the clock ~ it laughs.
Cutting like a knife. Time's joke on us. Comes
illusion and delusion ~ another joke to choke upon.
A chapter closes, arriving in it's dull chariot.
It prophetically raises it's glass high, sips and
moves ever along. I swallow my past and move along,
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