a decathexis deconstruction by shadows in the eigengrau
Dahlia layers, a flowering fractality
Repeating redolence of sensual scents
A silken shroud of multitudinousness
Fragility in exquisite equilibrium
Petals cascading from a pivotal universe
Floral fireworks on a spherical sojourn
Lustrous lava flows consuming its core
Centric waves of satin, ad infinitum
Perpetually pulchritudinous perfection
art: by Jackie Jacobson
A muse, a muse! My kingdom for a muse!
Staring at textures of
skin and light, shadows
and scars, painted across
a topography of vein and
bone, he sees an age-worn,
sorrow-torn, hirsute surface
whose rivulets unerringly
circulate life that remains
teasingly beyond his grasp;
out of reach, this life, with
its promise and potential,
augurs riverbeds run dry,
fortunes forever lost, and
the certainty that one day
others will look upon him
knowing death, as he does,
like the back of his hand
art: Mano by Javier Arizabalo
Taught she was beautiful before humility could root
Indoctrinated by her birth on a pedestal too high
She was an innocent sapling set on a dying course
Abscission befell her heart to protect the whole
As people shed from her life, more then pruned away
Sacrificing her sanity in autothysic carnage
All that endures is marcescent hope without the will
A tenuous attachment in her everlasting autumn
Rattling the bars of its cage with each suspiration
In acts of dehiscence, she releases scarlet leaves
Then waters them in their descent from her boughs
Ever casting umbrageous gazes upon those beneath her
Alone in accelerated deciduosity, an autumnal eternity
Too small to touch the sky, too tall to touch the ground
She curses time in her turbulent fall before wintertide
art: Portrait Practice by Mandy Jurgens
Immured
in the interstice
between
wakeful and wishful, with
whispers
overwhelming howls,
cecity
surmounting reality, and
madness
marauding hope
art: Evening Ceremonies by James Gleeson
word for day 26: zombie, theme: hunger
dear tokens of expression, the cliche diaries, and your rules
a destructive maelstrom of sudden revelation,
cast her into disarray
centrifugal reactions over violent questions
of her love, recherché
irrational repudiation of secret somethings,
a cognitive decomposition
taciturn demeanour of nods and nothings,
left cause as pretermission
confiding in no one, granting no absolution,
thus rendered dead inside
chaotic incredulity, marked mental devolution,
unliving thus zombified
beside herself, having endless disputes,
nourished relentless exasperation
a zealous need to set free hateful refutes,
resulted in her laceration
coursing within, poison pervading the veins,
an overwhelming pestilence
unwilling to die, desired retribution reigns,
thereby forcing her reticence
fissures agape, exposed the untended torment
of her feral corruption
savage dissection of answers left dormant,
then led to familial abruption
cordoned away behind razor wire, her dearest
imposed the coventry
alone she hungers, rapacious psychosis begets
this desperate gluttony
for others living, fury and cruelty conflating,
forever contemptuous
her lashing unbridled, for wardens not abating,
she’s ever tempestuous
naught will remedy the blinding insanity,
of this ravaging affliction
contained and restrained, abandoned by family,
she can spit only malediction
art: by Margarita Georgiadis
In this corner do dead things dwell;
a stygian hollow hidden from his
heart lest weeping abet ablution; a
decaying hoard for self-inflicted
reminiscences; algor mortis befell
roseate osculations, lying cracked &
cold, sans sweet nothings & passionate
everythings, mere spavined archways
of ancient ruins; sobriquets foreign to
him, forgotten toxins that no longer
drip from his tongue, but tattoos on
the tip taunting unspeakable madness;
broken wings of quondam dreams in a
tenebrose reliquary of honor, untoward
recollections searing his penitential,
wandering eyes in a brazen attempt of
internecion; stagnant he sits amidst the
bloat, rummaging through a corner of
his moldering mind, blindly grasping
memoriter where dead things do dwell
art: by Eric Lacombe
