Accompanied Spaces

Blank spaces,
Blank pages
Make up,
Mesmerizing magenta to be exact
They make up the infinite possibility
The possibility to speak your mind without spoken words
The troubled treble stands alone unless fingers and palms widen
Widen in search for the next synchronized beat
to the following syllable
To the following notion that life is more than a bunch of blank pages
And blank spaces
Depending on which room and compass you are accompanied by

By another west of a person
By an east group of people
And colors,
Remember the colors
The colors that identify as unity
Identity lingers, but remains stable with
every new chapter
And less blank pages
And no more blank faces.

L'artiste, le savant, et l'amant

Love lacks avant-garde
The septum between anarchy and the bourgeoisi
Romantica et rationale
The status quo knows no metamorphisis
But is subjective to the expression of perspective

Love, if not imaginary or abstract,
a Mann-made involuntary emotion
Originated not from the voluntary muscle
in which the hand continues to compress and release,
for existence


But rather...



"It is visions of entrapment that Kafka led us...it is bored with the past" said Irving Howe
And "If we are now facing an apocolyspe, then perhaps we may need critics with apocolyptic sensibilities..." said Harry Levin 

One person's standard is another person's innovation
L'artiste, le savant, et l'amant

Denial

For I have known denial

Denial is in me

Stimulating the vertical timber of denial

Caressing the bare brawn of denial

I am on denial

Salivation on the brim of denial

Appeasing the appetite of denial

Oh, how denial's nectar is so Splenda

 

A heart throbbing denial

A hammer pounding denial

Denial is my desire
My carnal desire

Lurker

Fuck off, with your lanky extremities,
Gorilla's forearms are no match to your skeletal hands
Thin like a pigeon's pinky toe,
Smooth as cacti in the Blue Desert,
Is it not like a mummy's caress on her pale cheek?
Is there no lubrication within arm's reach?
Blame it on poor blood circulation
Blame it on surreal glaciers
(That's a metaphor for winter
That's a metaphor gone bad)
Fuck off, with your impenetrable gaze
Black holes warping the inner serpent
A sight of a crusty ogle
A careless possession,
Your right eye is having an epileptic seizure
What an obscure invitation
Another Hallmark
Another Cliche
Fucking Great.

A Shadow Left Behind

An incumbent shadow lurks behind
A reflection of the disillusioned
A chalked outline of a crime scene
A photograph,
enriched with black and white
Static of a tainted televsion screen
Shimmer of a hologram
Shed of  a snake's scales
Simplistic in all rare forms
The evaporated tear's remnants
The two-dimentional silhouette
The varient translucent soul
casted by the directional sun.
The street cleaner unnoticed.

Examination

A relationship is like an exam. You can study for days on end, hours and hours of information cramed, cocooned into a small porportion of the brain, but come test time, nothing you studied for is on the exam. It's not like you haven't put in all of your effort to obtain that grade A, just circumstances didn't pan out as predicted.

Drowned

Blank, worried stares along side the cluttered, lingerie infested isles. "Katie are you okay?" Tears gushed from her Hazel eye ball sockets. "N-no, I just don't feel well." Then she glanced at the harsh texted words. She rushed into the bathroom to compose herself. In the mirrored reflection of her 'not self,' her thoughts flew out of her ears, circulating above her golden locks. Whether or not the agony caused hallucination is questionable. What was written in bold red letters is "I feel that I deserve to be alone..." The trembling hands were obnoxious. The pulsating heart pounded her chest like a butcher and his rib-eye. Anxiety streamed through veins of Safire. She thought aloud--no one deserves to be alone. And then to herself--If alone is the answer then I should have the privilege. If that was the case, she would, yet again, be stranded in the centered most point of the Sahara Desert. Abandoned. Without her camel. Without her canteen. It didn't. It didn't happen, but what if it had? Then, shatter, shatter! Glass on the hollow tiles. A faded fossil due to years of erosion. A dagger piercing the once known Sense and Sensibility. The ceased pulse drowned into the depths of the Mediterranean black sea.