28 November '16
Look into the eyes of what could have been and see the callous disregard of long lost cities enveloped by infinite translucent shores glistening in ephemeral emptiness. Then turn your gaze upon the vast horizons of worlds to come and universes beyond expectation and false hope. Now, transcend above the opaque beauty of ethereal oneness into the truth of imminent being.
I fear I’ll have to quarter the dime to save my sharecropprs Rembrant exile, remind my soles to chirp the gravel, drag not an emty ounce further till the severer of heads removes mine and places it on the mast of a juniper ship, bound for Ignominy, the land of impoverished pursuits. Wealth in the reluctance of my fortunes precludes my vanity in chasing the unrelenting stir of tribal hidden formulas, of rich treason I infiltrate the cities of bastion alley doorways, to seek my measure in bales of hackseed. Remove my feathers of dampened flight. Ill float in osmos tidings, from servile dominion to argyle escape!
The wind is slammin my trailer, that erie howl echos across the lake, and theres no one, not a soul, not even a bug, to look to and divy the fear. I dig myself into the rafters of that low ceiling of mirthless clementine reluctance to cave to the beast, and faith is the emptiness of that shallow intemperance a mere speck of sand shows to the ocean of veiled horizons.
Watching snow melt, examined as metaphor in all context related circulations of quasi sub extractions of explantive conjecture, aires the dominion of the seeker of Solomon’s refractive insite to a wisp of a straw on a weary stone. The watercress of knowing is to internalize my subjective affirmatives, deriding those instincts to teach the so thought less informed (they know more than shows). Instead my gulp of Ishmail’s intense struggle becomes fodder for my own integrity, which strengthens my heel against thorn, the want of the dagger to remit my climb to peace never leaves the sheaths buckle. I rest in the valley, the cool spring and tall grass, far from belly of the misbegotten trudgeons of vainglory. Ask to view my worth amongst the richest of men, see of how little I have of more. Yet I am a king, carried on the shoulders of the naysayers, I am The Smile Of The Sandman.
There is a bird on my roof, claw digging winged argonaut, stratosphere jumper of anxious pecking disorder, and the squish trade is that of minimized reluctance to aquire a taste for jabberwacking cacophonous meandering of my synaptic occupant – my stilt loft brain. Have I concealed my depth in lack of care for integral astronomy. Then I say I do not! No, the sizemagraph clicks, I am a doubters devonshire. Let me particulate my research into the goings on of humans into, rather, the unseen resendant creature on my roof. It is of the fast deed! The immediate! Quash the unpredictable upheaval I suspect! Is NOW the bird walks. Ill supplant later with raucous fervor to manipulate nothing in this instant!
Sitting in a hotel lobby, waiting for a thought, the lines across my sunken face are full of karmic strain. The recluse monster lies within the sea of paradise and waits to claim the ghostly rain that falls. So long Mrs Asterbrook, you taught me well and, as for the stories in your little books, they sent me straight to hell. Lieing doesn’t pay but choosing sides will win, but in the end, the victory is small. So I sit in this sanctuary, self made, so complete, a Soulshine Prison, staring at a light, or rather, a dim refraction of my brain’s translucence, and I calculate the rhymes. And I realize that its no surprise.
Satire at best looses its flavor when ingested with virtuous candy, sort of introspect non logic in a context of interpolation in regions of sand dune lithographs. I knew a guy down south that mowed everybody’s yard. They arrested him finally. Benevolent banality gets five to seven so I tend my flower vessels evenly, with care to not rake the leaves in dew. It is my sarcasm that the comedy builds from, then languishes in my proclivity to count the birds flitting in the hazelnut bushes.
Optimize! Always being translucent gives no headroom to the anarchic credulousness of hearsay evidence formulated in counters of meaningless digressions into fabricated complications of nonsense. Amused at my emptiness of foresight is my fortitude! I am not qualified to rule the kingdom of Othermen. The weight of the masses I redeem for the lightness of foot, the stranglehold judge I am not.