The ring

The ring, everlasting; sometimes, unbidden, he can feel its annulus metallic chill, the phantom sensation and horripilation of an infinitely symbolic, twisted lemniscate; an unraveling thereof, which is no less forever

When möbius memories turn aback, he’ll depress the hoop seeking an idyllic, rockwellian innocence, one that he was never comfortable wearing; a pressing reminder of what has always escaped his grasp

Finitely symbiotic, the ring preys at the temple amidst the hoar, the seventh circle’s center, and he hears the clamor approaching nigh; gorging upon one another, the ring and he, teasing the hitherto elusive climax

Once removed, the cyclic debossment scars him for moments thereafter, before fading into numbed cowardice; an instant would change everything, a simpleton’s squeeze would repair the wayward id’s indiscriminate carnage

It is flattery of the sincerest form; for with every rosy impression it leaves, each blandishment it seethes from its cold, steel mouth, it draws heavy lids and heavier focus, though hasn’t yet the strength to draw a single finger

Scoring a merry-go-round imprint, a revolving rapture he ever bears, it extols echoes of peace through temerity and quells maudlin madness through casuistrous clarity; portentously, a searing ring for the ages, once thereupon the hammer falls

art: Q34 by Eric Lacombe

Homage

Paying homage through pain and suffering,
any distraction an afront to his memory,
any relief a disgrace to his tenderness;

my love will abide until the falling pall of
darkness flutters to rest upon my eyes, and
the final tear to streak my cheek has dried;

an hourglass of ashes, counting down the
sentence; a condign repentance overflowing
the void, suffocating acceptance within the

throat hushed by broken glass remorse and
voiceless reports of choler and dolor; upon
my heart and mind, restless he will ever be

art: by Eric Lacombe

Jigsaw

They told him, with pride, to pick
up the broken pieces, instructing
him first which ones to let lie

Striven by a delusion to justify
failures; evidenced by illusory
jigsaws, their incomplete pictures

Putting together those remaining
pieces of his h-e-a-r-t and s-o-u-l,
has left him only another h-o-u-l

Where the sewage of draining
happiness streaks the urn with a
hypnotic flow of verisimilitude

While a choler gale whistles with
incredulity; an obdurate reminder
of eternal, inexorable solitude

art: untitled 36 by Peterio

His rose

The boy would stop to smell the rose

When he grew tall enough to reach

Abrading his nose upon a petal frayed

While he suffocated on the redolence

Rooted from his rafter for the dearest of life

Suspended by its thorny vine, the hanger hung

It was ever there, of his being a part, apart

No other flowerbed was so enticing

No other garden welcomed him so

art: gallow.. by Peterio