Layered psychoses
swelter her brow,
helter-skelter sans
clemency of a breath;

nested neuroses
bombastically loud,
she’s a madness of
matryoshka dolls;

infinity mirrors of
dwindling sanity,
bearing distant truths
of her diminishing self;

the taunting homunculi
with unreal expectations,
synchronize chides for
Platonic perfection;

this ephemeral Form
of unattainable need,
is found unapologetic in
the auspicious greed of

the commercial zeitgeist

art: The Cloud Seed by Margarita Georgiadis


His mind lacks an integral incorporation
to be a contribution to sprawling society, its
integrity weakened by saints and sinners,
lay splintered in vague dormition

An autodidactically caliginous brume
festers this dibilitating, deleterious haze;
a cataract of anamnesis and presence,
an opalescent lens opaquely eshewing rose

Fostering his subversively caducous reality
of acquaintances and acquiescences, in a
mizmaze of detritus and flotsam, is an inborn
filter controlled by a corrosion conjuring sieve

Wired to be unwired, hypæthral elucidation frees
him from his bonds, but bonds him to the freed;
heavy reflection begets heavier palpebræ, as
iniquitous burdens morph into irenic inspissation

Expressed thru time’s exhaustive bottleneck, as
settled sentimental sediment, a particulate cradle
in a concussive conclusion resting face-upward,
he gazes at a future future awaiting time’s overturn

art: by Eric Lacombe


She’s the fade of the smile when they turn away
She’s the burn in the red, puffy eyes
She’s the space between heartbeats
Not living nor dead
She’s the pause at the end of the sighs

She’s the track that remains from the path of a tear
She’s the nod to the voices unheard
She’s the lack of all passion
As he climbs in her bed
She’s the want that speaks not a word

She’s the change in a world that prizes accord
She’s the notion that yet bore the thought
She’s the rage in the cage
But she’s chained in her head
By the lessons that society taught