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The Unfortunate Case of Narcoleptic Prosody

Narcoleptic Prosody
Eyes close…amphitheaters arise
Sing, sing for me now, so I may rest in sleep,
wherein inspired are the dreams, said symphonies awake

Dysplasia Ptolemaic
Euphratic composition
Tigris by the tale
current, be-sides our haunts howling us now
down the street and through the flood
it could be a ghost
or a demon, searching for the lost vial of dysthymia’s blood

with surface wounds we know
A fluidic blend of homilies
surrendering the linens to caution’s afterglow

to contusions turned
in mortifying advance each is yearned
its side-splitting salience
A cartographic fence
Inching close, aligned
With a calendric design
time slows,
and this is all that’s known

Ever pushing forward
each and every ounce
we share
a piece,
a part,
apportioned in tine
wrapping the tearstained syndromes’
with pretty boughs scourged upon

From deep within an unknown seal
an utterance protrudes through tangents real
unclasping the gash-in-cleft
revealing a consequence that burnout’s played its dance upon,

the deepest scar, the frowning gape, lost in sidestep, trapped in fate

Allocution unsheathes its grey-bent blues,
replacing point of pitch with tongue in groove
while mercury lingers
and penance remains
failing to desist
the fractures nature made
the one’s nurture never could resist

The consistory that bludgeons
But the phantoms still are coming
churning dismissive stares
unto, the buried totems lost in you

and the definition’s overt masks
too quickly don their capes in fear
before the valerian fever could tempt the last of such spasms
sympathetic appeals

From the never-ending conditions that relapse
to witch-hunts ill-conceived, unleashing the still playful pups out into the wildness of the river’s night,
afraid the Pythoness divines you still
breathing full inundations fluctuating words—afoul
yet never had I believed in such stories, not a singularity of symbol could sway an outlook devised by my own making, unless such contradictions escaped the lips of Euphoria herself—

If would be as bourgeois spelled it be
deemed as far lost as
jetsam caught ashore in canard’s net

A marble valley sunset
under tropes of gold
brazen blisters encumbering
close to the curve of spine
in such spaces I forever think of you
wherever I shall be, in any of my various conditions,

As the pleasure swoons the temple doors
I’ll remember you, my sweet, sweet girl
the essence of that innocent one back when
you found me, looking, for the someone
that happened to have your face
your eyes and heart
your grace and laugh…

Each time the music cringes across the delicates
I fondly recall each those nights beneath the canvassed stars

yet perhaps the misinformation, here, is right,
perhaps too much time has passed for you this night
for your light, seemed to be,
the one pure thing, to which it appears
impossible to ever conjure again,
and that sweet affair was but a glyph
upon the mapping webbed, upon the only
meaningful expedition I’ve ever quested on—
yet, why those lies were spread of you
why they said you were but crafting schemes
where love was but insincerities voice, painted in such inebriating hues

I pined days over you
from anger to sadness
to a demand, to obtain, truth
only to hear you spent your days since
laughing at how I fell into your snare
I didn’t believe those tales those “teachers” told
start now,
on the brink of what felt succinct,
when pressed,
you were nowhere near
for reasons,
unknown to spy,
you’d left,
ran away,
far from here
if only I had the name you wore,
then perhaps
recreate we could,
the sentiments you showed me there
but, alas
what is, is
the rationale and motives
are but middling data in-between
the truth and the truth’s that could have been


About hobgoblin2011

I'm a poet and aspiring screenwriter/songwriter with a passion for film, art, photography, philosophy and heavy metal. I love reading, mainly non-fiction, comic books, graphic novels, myth and reference. Family always comes first for me. I'm a proud father to two wonderful pups and two curious cats. I'm also a glutton for punishment aka the life of being a diehard Buffalo Bills and Sabres fan.

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