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The Possibility Through Abstraction

The point where the incoherent, incredibly
Offers up trinkets that exonerate a semblance
Of coherency

The moment before the moment
The download prior to purge
The abdication of rusted principles
Left forever hollowly and alone
In the chamber of the chalice
Encrusted by the lost dreams of the ill-begotten
And bled for dead

Soiree’s with the untapped triage
Tryst’s aligned in wrongful pursuit
Admonishing grace for a moment of
Truth

Sadistic forceps pry into,
The lusting sable draping you

Floodgates relegated to economic states
Blistering the tonsils as its quench atolls the
Lingered tempest’s torrid screams

The point of the matter is the muck and the clatter
Arranged into meaningful garbage, tossed and strewn
About the rigid peaks and smooth-carved dales, drenched
In wisdoms as life’s jib’s set sail, out upon, unto, the darkening
Horizons of the edaciously spawned

Each participle breeds its own reaction
Every temple alleviates thrombotic clang with braids of prayer
Where, even to the atheist, the pausing stirs reformation’s dead, pronouncing doubt to their doubting liens, ever constructed to bludgeon the magnanimous endeavors that are housed securely within the prisms of a different time

The point in working with abstraction, is to acknowledge the pegs that don’t quite fit, yet offer a glimpse into the tenets to which their language betrays, forcing the mind to rationalize in a subtlety stirred in abrasive ways

All in all, it is, after all, a battle to displace contempt, with a song of illustrious descent, bristling the coma clean, of the unsettling dust storms, only ever jettisoning its castrating debris

Where one word, as simple part of speech, unspoken yet believed, to force direction’s swim, over the rocks beneath, the disturbances alive under a peacefully raging tract of sea

Where a turn of phrase can gospel dimensions unknown, breeding sentiments from an unfeeling grasp, holding hostage the oppressors of creation’s mind

An abstraction, if one chooses to offer such a primitive understanding, is the point where attention is muted by the unattained; where the mosaics collage is abashed by the harassment of epiphany; where the sounds of clamor remove all triviality, where each note, each chord, become fully absorbed by the meaningful foundations hosting such concertos for the validating portions of the intrinsic bee, that pollinates as many bouquets it can, turning the decrepit and the denied, into a rendition of a much more sweeter time; where the monsters made are pretty in their very own boudoirs of ironic dissemination; where…life tightly clasps upon a rationale, without the need fore departing the other possibilities it has also known, shown, without the relinquishing of all the pastures he’s come to know.

Farter down plummet’s cage
The shackles break, the pins
Gravitate, away from the flesh
And scurry in the subtractions made

Abstractions are steeped in the furthest expanse of furtive growth. They hold the keys to every chalice ever known, imparting knowledge to all who place his lips upon, savoring the succulence that only faith can offer the thirsting man.

And a key to remember is that nothing can sever your bond with your belief, if you refuse to allow it access to your center of conviction.

It is the point before redaction, where the incoherent is comprehensively enlightened; opening up one’s eyes to the several layers of each hinge

of knowledge it musters to make….of foundations it chooses to break…an underlying insemination of wonder…an awestruck mind, rapt asunder, drifting into outcast fields of relegated dismissals…yet fully operational despite these deficiencies they speak of behind your back…

give fully of your self, your time, your wisdom…and wisdom with time will give fully back unto the self…

remain ignorant of deception’s glance…slide closer to the embrace of the puzzled skin…waiting for your corners to rest comfortably within the opened edges it has been blessed to hold for you

It shall be difficult. In fact many mornings will inspire great doubts and disbeliefs…you will be tested in the most discouraging fashions, removed from the inner circles you thought you’d climbed so hard to reach…all this and more…you must be willing to melt over thinly formed sheaths of ice…and watch as your everything sinks beneath the icy cold…left only with the scars you’ve chosen to carry, the blood still curdling beneath unkempt nails and lashes…the varicose uprisings over a variety of anatomy…and bearing constant reminder, of those moments you thought yourself as happy, reflecting as they will consistently question your resolve, are you tough enough, can you endure the pain that love beckons for, will you persist through the darkest hours yet to fall shade…

And there…in that muck and mire, a new vision is thus inspired…an opportunity to gleam life’s mysteries from the vantage point of alternative plots of real estate…where all things are seen in one, simultaneously twisting calmly upon the tongue in ways only a coherency itself, can deem known and in as such, a portion of the battle is not seen as lost, but as an opportunity to learn from the weaknesses avowed within the setting of what most repress beneath a discouraging path that had been spun…

Abstractions offer a different way…. a new possibility. What is seen may not be truth in and of itself…but without it’s voice, the most you’ll see is what’s served rancid, eliminating the potential laden in what can only be determined by those concepts aligned by choice

The residuals have no limitations
If you
Can
Live
In diligent fashion
Roam
Alone
Yet knowing
Family
Awaits you
Above
At the end of your chosen path
When
Journey’s end

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Intrinsic Fires Woefully Set Ablaze


Tenuous—

Teething under an open fire—

Like a lobo lost amongst a pathless green—

Dichotomous conflagrations

pillaging the frightened veils of

forestry for all its pent-in wares,

often measured against and for

the occasional incendiary

laden-clad in a ribose blanketing

of the singed solutions

most commonly referred to as

a caustic curve of emblazing

calamity

Unctuous—

Like the blistered bark foundering beside

The ‘boisterous fiefdom’s Burk-bred lineage—

Where and of, a never-close-to-humble callous grey—

Embellishes the fertile floes of icy strains—

Indicating, with an utter lack of soothing decree,

the purge of passage, for those once sent astray—

exiled to verdurous plains of Coventry—

where the never docile embellishing’s

find their tenets bound and soaked—

in the gritty absolution burdened

with and by, the venal aftershocks that linger amidst the swords that swallow long the flagrancies left haranguing the vast seas of cauldron’s past and near—

Over the encompassed quickening, in-steps that brood exonerating quarks of sparks in-kind—

Wrenched the stilled beating of life’s vultures, sweltering in the casks of curdling time—

from the steps and rungs known so well, past the enmity of a forlorn wizard’s locking tierce—and of each its relegating dormancies—en masse

collectives of burgeoned sin—

painting sweet the tinder skies—parsing quick the calming cameos emoted in the unleavened serenades of far-too charming rhythmic tithing’s intellectually etched tempests of design

Harmless benediction, mud stained sediments settling upon the ever-omitted flecks of ossien—unceremoniously unforgiving tortured tongues denigrated to acerbically induced
parsimony—where enmeshed fractals chart the skein—where one’s softened shields striate deep, the egregious acumen of patella’s scorn

Talocrural—

Fractures to slivery shards

Moments before the placating trek around the sagacious honoring of wisdom’s once vivacious tree of ever-lasting phrenic economy

Full circle returns anew.

Can’t Opt

I can’t opt
can’t choose
I just do
whatever comes,
which often
unravels
the way I’m
seen, the way they shun

Choices are but steps
earthly in command
but digressive to one’s stance
are the sidetracks of chance
that operate outside control

in-pause events

circumvent the

loneliness involved

in navigating through
a world of I can’t wait

and despite knowing
what I’ve always known
in spite of the
betrayal
and the shame that’s ever shown

I bend my knees
just the same
walking
as if
I’m alone

with all the thoughts I own

I can’t opt
can’t choose
yet please, do not confuse
I’m well aware, that
with indecision,
one increases their
opportunity to lose

which is, of course,

simply another opportunity to opt and choose