The Deadening

Memory is the bane of impermanence, and impermanence, the enemy of memory

His salivating eyes dine on the beforeward and afterward, hungry for what was, never was, and shan’t be

Straining against the current, he’s awash with sins of the past, for to take away the pain, would be to suffocate

Survivor’s guilt for this one, who undeservedly exists; while the living embrace the breadth of his present wasted

The bridges adust – trembling under the weightlessness of quotidian, phatic chatter – threaten… promise… his benighted isolation

He thus awaits, overmorrow or what then follows, the numb of decay and sublime windchimes to perturb his silence

When behindhand, whithersoever he lies, he shall relent

art: (untitled) by Zdzisław Beksiński

Trying, very trying

Very hard, I’m trying, very trying; apologies drip from my every pore; unbalanced, I can only clumsily trip over the mystifying vomit of images and words

These eulogies for mere existence, I offer from abbey to abattoir, as they paradoxically dam my mind, yet let the rivers run rapid and true

My fleeing footfalls disturb the understory, leaving a flutterance of palliative epistles flowing behind, in corkscrew exclamations and damnations

They borrow time, while sorrow convalesces in its private, cordate suite; evagations that stay the journey to barathrum from a double-knotted swing

Very trying, I am, for the exiguity of patience in the kindest of hearts; for the plaintive howls of distress that demand an absent shoulder

For comforting the crying wolf in its death throes, innocently suffering the sufferer; for slapping the palmate that bears empathy and camaraderie

The guilt gives chase and the corkscrews pierce; guiding a circuitous flight to the end of beginning, to the beginning of end; all the while, I’m trying, very trying

art: (untitled) by Zdzisław Beksiński

Die

The diffident moon, having failed hitherto, betrays her desire through furtive ado

She hasn’t the pow’r for arcipluvian light, thus summons to his feet, her tidings this night

To live or to not, he wonders aloud, undeceived by the sorrow, an answer he vowed

She watches, she beams, as he fingers his fate, prepared to call chance, his destiny shan’t wait

This steward of providence may upset her take, so bethinks him, she does, with a churn and a wake

No joy in the future or long whilom days, his perception has shattered, leaving only malaise

He bears all these memories that none else will see, memories that forever shall vanish with he

Propelling him next was naught but his pride, as he faced with a purpose, the watery guide

Taking no chances, for life he’ll atone, with her he’s assured, he’ll not die alone

art: (untitled) by Zdzisław Beksiński

Fellow

Atramental remiges occulting her light, an embrace from the silver-tongued magpie, lone and sorrowful

Stelliferous flickerings perturbing her sight, a clench of the eyes, thrust behind the wicked iron constriction

Echoes from the bloodnouns surrounding her plight, a subfusc serenade, mesmeric premonitions of her vagary

Colubrine ligatures binding her tight, scales of their justice, pressed on by the alarm of the feathered Svengali

An aboulic arain army patrolling the night, in a swelling chaotic cluster of disquieting deference

A wish through the wire for freedom and flight, as the intersilient moon offers her empathy and condolence

Psithurisms taunt the immured weeping wight, while the warden longs, desperate for the safety of his cage

art: fellow by Peterio

Heartland

He breaststrokes through the bogland, with a mind, twilight-kissed, thoughts too heavy to keep him adrift

So succumbs to algedonic toxicities, of wayward desperate diversions, yea, sly reality perversions

Breathing retribution when his face embraces the mire, beclouded, befuddled, malicious memories afire

A pyre, now his form, drawn to depths by the quag, his ensuant joy obscene, and then hope intervenes

The unwelcome host, turns his body afloat, treading conscious morass, he questions the violation, that it would harass

Then poses dead man in the heartland, with a mind in stark reverie, a nepenthean reprieve, ever destined for brevity

art: days by Peterio

Irreplaceable

Cresting the familiar stairwell,
to disfamiliar emptiness; no
riant beacon of thrill, to
welcome this vessel home;

trails tracing trails of memories,
beneath shadowed, swollen
sunsets; dew-ladened lashes
languish, as lids in denial

clench; idyllic flashes of fancy,
in the squeeze’s ensuing darkness;
desperately seeking delusions,
in reality’s unforgiving light;

too much time remains, of
not enough time remaining;
too little time for weeping, in
his heartbeat’s eternal pause

art: untitled 22 by Peterio

Blooderfly eyry

Palms to the sky, he questions and suffers ex animo; his ullage ever deepening, as cerise streaks escape his stretch, assoiling torturous trespasses

Disdainful dissatisfaction flutters from the alabaster perches, offering a brilliant contrast to the cerulean above and cimmerian within

A blooderfly eyry where he stands, while he withers, sins taking flight from grieving scars and open wounds, on the gale of his penances and profanities

This moribund monstrosity – a manic, maudlin menagerie – seeks forgiveness in his own infandous sacrifice, with pillars of rust and moons of salt

He melts into the earth, a deliquescing denouement, bathed in ignominy, wallowed in repentance, and forgotten by memory and futurity

art: by Zao Wou-Ki