Saturday, April 6, 2013

An In-exact Rendition of Analgesics Induced By Ill-Conceived Variations of What Once Was So Fondly Known as Histrionics


Vexing winter, culpable, equally
In each her ghastly appellations,
Pronounceable or not—

To annunciate, if but for a solitary syllabic
Representation, regardless of key, you are to
Feel, what flames writhe through her internally—

Slack-jawed, amazed, yet mainly from fear, each
Observation allowed, becomes a memory ruefully
Spent, in depreciative dissolve and disillusionment—

To witness is to feel, the snarling hooks paring clean
The canvas from its frame…watching as the paint, is apportioned randomly—stylistically similar, yet confusion, also has made and continuously makes such claims consistently…

In a manner of speaking, a cloud exhausts the oxygen, as the last breaths befriend an approaching maiden sent from afar, where her beauty alters, in waves, toggling between, asymmetric recollections, abused by a deepening lust, ignorant of just how representative grow the scars…

Hallucinatory amplification contorts the demonic vice grip that strangulation bestows upon the parted cleft of lost worlds reunited in forced mergers and therein reuniting the fallen with the spawn of Adam…

And in those first few unmeasured moments, to where the end began a sequence—one that illustrated the birth of abhorrence, and just how quickly a kingdom of infernality, could be created in such a place, as the most unbecoming of southern stalls.

Shivering…yet cold is not understood…

Enflamed and razed, but the coals are like rocks placed beneath a rill so quaint…

The shapes and forms would’ve continued their skew upon perception, if not for the blissful accompaniments, of which the heavens shawled down to comfort thee,

Guarded, even the worst of us garner the sympathy from family, even those we’ve shunned aside, turning our backs upon…for no father wishes, nor can bear to watch such depths of pain and suffering blanketed unkindly over the eternality of kin…

Such incoherent byproducts of this unsettled estate, a placement or tomb of state, which is that thing, so far removed from the vocabularies of what most, hopefully, can truthfully comprehend…

And when the worms covet what remains, you’d have been long since removed, and we will have then, long since parted ways…

Floating ethereally above, the vision grows smaller, losing its impactful proximity with each fluttering ascent of your downy-feathered heroines and apathetically devouring elves…

Yet still, you are encouraged to keep watching…for it is known, that only sentiments of unconcerned psychologies will confront you therein…as angels escort you to that place above, way beyond and far away from the defilements that ever so persistently remain determined to singe and sear any and all incoherent melody relegated to distaste, pain and all things wished invisibly felt…

And then…the shame of what once was, becomes again…a relic, a history untethered…bound no more, by the shell that for so long had bore your name…


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