The Entire Unexpurgated Collection of ‘Meditations of Sinz and Esinz’

THE CONVERSATIONS OF SINZ AND ESINZ

The following words reflect a communication between two brothers. It is not our intention to instruct or effect change, but rather, to comment on our experiences, using the philosophical quote from the 13th century Persian poet Rumi, as our guide:

“We must become ignorant of what we have
been taught and be instead bewildered.”
– Rumi

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BEWILDERMENT

There are many guises for intelligence.
One part of you is gliding in a high Windstream,
while you’re more ordinary notions
take little steps and peck at the ground.
Conventional knowledge is death to our souls,
and it is not really ours. It is laid on.
Yet we keep saying we find “rest” in these “beliefs.”
We must become ignorant of what we have been taught.
and be instead bewildered.
Run from what is profitable and comfortable.
Distrust anyone who praises you.
Give your investment money, and the interest.
on the capital, to those who are destitute.
Forget safety. Live where you fear to live.
Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.
I have tried prudent planning long enough.
From now on, I will be mad.
– Rumi

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THE INTANGIBLES OF WEAKNESS

The philosophy of men is flawed by the intangibles of weakness.
To say to do, is profound in corruptness.
I am assured in confusion, sanctified in the truth of derision,
and I quantify my existence,
rather than qualify my subsistence.
– Sinz

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TO SEEK IS TO BE

The truth of quantification is buried in the minutia.
of qualities beyond our imaginations.
To seek is to be.
– Esinz

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THE TRELLIS

Serendipitous monologues of the character of mothballs
elude transposition.
Moral triumphs are a spec of colored sand.
It is not my accomplished reason,
it is my awkward dance along the trellis
that marks my solace.
– Sinz

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KNOWLEDGE AND FORESIGHT

I continue to condense morality
into a prism of shadows,
not away from trepidation,
but to the quick of matters,
not shallow in any share of respect.
A chasm of insight waits for the shoeless soldier,
but I must wander in bewilderment amidst the enemies
of true peace – knowledge and foresight.
– Sinz

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THE WEARIED TRAVELERS

The road to redemption is cast in the doubt of
wearied travelers, winding their way through the desolation of
hopes and desires scattered to the wind.
– Esinz

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TO STRIVE FOR SUBSTANCE

The warmth of a cool breeze can provide the dispirited soul with a reason to strive for substance.
– Esinz

—————————————–

MINOR IMPOSITIONS

We watch galaxies collide with indifference,
but react with screams when confronted
with minor impositions.
– Esinz

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THE SMILE OF A MOCKINGBIRD

To see the smile of a mockingbird
is to hear the rush of a river in search of freedom.
– Esinz

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THE CHANGELING

And the social minority of reptilian faith flag down
the ingots at the Cross, on the way to Columbia.
The station master yields the oath, and frees the surface,
open to the grave.
But I see the triangle of sisters and reach no boundary.
I am vague, in disrepute, almost a changeling.
– Sinz

—————————————–

TRUE REVELATION

The burning of the bush can transfix us all
with its calm endurance,
but we as spectators, sensing the anguish
and the joy of its engulfment,
can also come to know the extreme lightness
and darkness of our hearts. This is true revelation.
– Esinz

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THE QUEST

Over the horizon is a world that we cannot see.
We are drawn to it by our insatiable thirst
for new vistas beyond the
worlds we know today,
which are here and gone.
And so, the search is never ending and draws us on
a quest that proves our aspirations will live forever.
– Esinz

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THE SALIENT AND THE DECEIVED

Ostrich oligarch! Numinous!
The passive nugget cremator,
on satin robes to Zephyr’s heaven.
I tether my sandals heel to oblique destines.
I ride on the narrow backs of sparrows.
I flow to vestibules,
and recline in the storm of
Rasputin’s sail chasers.
Sinz is not the character to rasp.
I alone make the coiner part of my invent.
I release the gay doe to frolicsome minces,
to restless tidings of endearment to the mint of Orandus.
I goad time from the usurper.
I grovel in the cane,
sheered of knowing,
following deal makers
to an anxious rescission,
the water of the bench,
the Salient and the Deceived.
– Sinz

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FAIR TIDES FISHER

Automations of firmaments!
I am the wrangler Osimion.
Have that I have!
Fair tides fisher.
I wish not of this swell.
I note the treasured vegemite’s confluence.
I am distorted in duplicity.
But let confusion reign!
– Sinz

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PROSPER

For nothing is not another’s passage,
it is resolved in temperance for the prescribed.
Live as truth and prosper.
– Sinz

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CRADLE CAT’S EYE

The anecdotal regime has but to vest times
trodden path to requiem’s stone gate.
Bereaved mothers of stolen child’s breath
know of more but speak of less.
To actuate my point of discernment validates
a fish in a bowls obtuse vision to a cradle cat’s eye.
– Sinz

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THE TRICKSTER OF CONCEPT

If I, as man, mortally corrupt in all nature,
wounded in soulless introspect,
consider that a thought or gesture of kindness or
timidity might conquer the rath of cruel intention,
invibe the benefit of escape from a moment’s
trivial conviviality with the harsh underbrush of
discernment of right or wrong,
then I have not failed to connect the path to the doorway of all peace.
I am guided to the well. I am not thirsty for inane self-delusion.
I am the trickster of concept. I know. I am aware.
I am led to accurate repose.
Follow thy instinct, all who uphold.
That is the dissoluble force of my freedom. I do not know.
I am not the Catcher in The Rye. I am led to the trough
of good by my amazed, bewildered,
quite mad disposition of loyalty to the oath of remonstrance.
All that is known, is unknown.
I fear nothing, for I know nothing.
– Sinz

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ETERNITY

Today is both the alpha and the omega of time and space –
comprehend this and you will know the meaning of eternity.
– Esinz

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TIME’S PERDITION

I oscillate. Credulity’s bonds spark free contextually
burdensome obligations,
fomenting the larvae of mites that blind silo climbers fall from.
I comprehend that of Altamont.
The sea of Sophocles. Where is eternity on vacant soul rocks?
Colliding in the hemisphere’s righteous supper,
the feast of Vernon?
To the might of revulsion’s door I traverse,
taking only the ear, seeing not,
but hearing.
Yes, I listen toward ambiguity,
the strife of contiguity
and conquer the damners of light.
Forever is never, and never is always.
And I care little for the rapscallions of reason,
I care for none but the water carrier.
Leave the Sultans to their dim respite.
I glimmer in the hegemony of the auspicious warrior,
the gladiator of times perdition.
– Sinz

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DISSOLVED TRANSLUCENCE

A cacophony of yellow bird sonatas.
Mayhem.
I reel in the injustice of tolerant eagles.
I soar the foothills of egalitarian aloofness.
It is not the wound that kills the viper,
but the sorceress’s blade in hominy drawn in
eternity from seemingly under a current savage translucence.
I am the earth, the land of despots.
Not of, but as.
Take care of angularity.
Remove the equations.
Should I make it of that, of my word, so true also.
I am reckless in abandon, free in dissolved translucence.
Questioned, I have none to answer.
Examine me with tongs of customary relevance?
None prosper but the mill workers saw,
set to the occasion, to slip the truth into the filigrees.
– Sinz

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OCTAGONAL PARADOX

Life, in the context of being the rational sorceress’s pot
boiling stew on fish heads causeway,
reams dockets of sounder acroterion mandates.
From the bottom of the belly laughers’ bursts the
ingests of rectitude salivates,
slate sun acrophilia,
debriefs of culminations
of nearsighted bully pulpit menageries.
Follow the ignominy to Salon,
near to sunken Davila,
in the fifth latitude, and find the silver trumpet of Cantor buried in the havens moss trinket,
and ride seldom sojourned paths to satiated atrophy.
Beauty is perceived lust,
contrived by abstract
coherence of masked advocates.
Travel the abyss of “since truth, why regress to mirth?”
Realize rather than to know,
that is my octagonal paradox.
– Sinz

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THE LAND OF THE GIANTS

In desperation, I move thru the mist,
of moments cast aside by reflections of some
bittersweet calamity,
that pales now as the true darkness has fallen
across the land of the giants.
– Sinz

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DAMNATION

Suns set and suns rise. We live by light and darkness.
Why then are we surprised by the balance
of good and evil? Suffer evil,
and endure, and, if you survive,
you will soon be enveloped by the good.
Luxuriating in success and affirmation?
Then prepare for damnation.
– Esinz

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THE KEEPER

I do not fear. I respect.
I do not understand. I know.
I quiet the crisp leaves on the path, never a step,
I am beckoned to my call. The enemies of light stall their
end with prejudice.
I am all around their camp. I am their keeper.
– Sinz

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A FIRE ANGEL’S ECLIPSE

Alsyno, the Leopold hat faster that tastes little
crumbs of tangerine tidbits
whilst worthwhile smock bearers mock his artifice domain
of back town cement and iron castables,
high risen formally decadent modern edifice escapements,
now relay switch domiciles of derision,
fog strewn ledge monster’s archives,
now tresses lounge chairs on sequin voyagers of serpentine sleds.
I wonder if he got his mark of glory in this Haven of Durst.
So be it!
Not I, of Tirolians Hammer, though!
I caught the tail end of the
cameo curtain call and assailed for new lands.
Always of before and ambient of pre-dawn, awakening to
still the whistle kettle only.
Not of quest, or earnest.
Of invested calamity of interests
that tat tat tat on tin roof time.
And that is the beckoning to a fire angels eclipse.
– Sinz

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PEDANTIC PHILOSOPHY

Merry mentors of angst, be-wrangled sardines,
tiny bastards of impasse oily flesh,
slime gotten pilfered pungent predators of paucity.
The cat of mice leers my shadows way,
and I can open my fate, the red fire bottle awaits to
douse my trumpets halo of sea bone and flesh.
Absolved? Of what treason? Sardine me to Satan’s Locke.
Mad I may become, sad I once was,
horrific in tiny guts glory I am!
A saltine with vinegar trembles at my eerie eye,
the sum of time to consummate the two.
Wrangle that pedantic philosophy merry cork twisters
and resolve to digest the ingestion.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE NIGHTCRAWLER

A lake in a forest,
an amusing spectrum of absurd,
pronation osculation,
is prevalent dosage for this tangled vine’s eyes of sorrow.
Raspy throats chirruping languid in hollow vacancies of
pushed down heaven’s truffles.
Masked marauders of centurion’s depth triangle squeeze
the dark overture into nocturn
lanterns that flicker buried immortals’ tangents of tribulations.
The rocks of shallow creeks hide their wisdom from the dawn,
protecting the blood trudged amphitheater of destiny. Say to me,
to a nuance of insight,
that I reel in the effused paradigm, and quote me in books
of uniquid’s chalice,
but the finder is not the wisp of the hand
of ionic diffusion.
No, the nightcrawler circumvents my grand ovation,
the emptiness of my intrigue is absolution.
– Sinz

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THE ORATOR OF AMBROSIA

On relative matters that concern not even the
porch hounds’ dreams of incoherent
cultivations of tempest’s diatribes on inculcate
trespassers of the grass rooted in the surrounds
of manifest Eden, there is a noble pretense of futile
accomplishment coveted as success
in societies delirium of thought process,
I must excuse my absolute neglect in opening
the gate to the leopard’s paw of distracted intent.
Do I instruct the turtle to come up for air?
Ha! I know the books of children’s rhymes,
friends of this chosen palate,
the guise I volute to sneak under the water’s mist.
Give me the Tristan’s fist of sand,
the orator of ambrosia. I say but little chimes.
To Isobar I speak my indolence, my omnimnity.
I am not bewildered, but fascinated by my inept repique
of karmic fortune for not having the
slightest earthly clue as to the intricacy
of “who done it, and why”.
– Sinz

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THE TRUTH

If you believe that you see the Truth, it is not the Truth,
it is rather a mere apparition of the apparent.
The Truth is in what cannot be superficially
perceived through vision or desire.
It is hidden in the faraway, banal,
and placid shores of deceit and duplicity.
There one can gaze without focus into the reflection of
the glistening waves and observe the wonder of
what has never been and never will be.
– Esinz

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SALUTAR AVARTE’

On radius sanctions of sincerity,
fortuitous Asmyres cuts
through to indemnify the rebel of redemptive ambivalence.
To care. To “real time”.
Asmyre’s opulence is indeed a
perspective drawn near,
then exhaled in gasps,
whimpering futile ingots of Sartremonial trivia.
I command none of my thrown away gestations of
vernacular inertia.
It is the liar that brings the feast to my sordid table.
I see merry weather in constraint of lashing the mask
off regents of inoculate petty thieves of virtue.
Were I to be in such high
remonstrance that I cultivate and transpire all guilty
verdicts to the platitudes of self-acclaimed knowers,
the opportune versifiers, that which I portend with
insoluble vigor myself,
would that chip the fatal blow to the jargon
rock of dissolute inference of that “I must know”.
I am heir to the throne of all, all that is inspired,
all that reaches enmity, all forever,
the question unresolved is my salutar avarte’.
– Sinz

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RADIANT SOLACE

The friction analysis principal applies to a sense of
extricate awareness.
The fortune of opportunity relishes the consternation of pretense,
I am but a hologram, an instant camera shutter glitch.
Searching for indemnity in a soul scorched word,
a turned sentence of calamity is fate.
All that I am is through an amalgam of redistribution
of strangle hold judgments that pierce my flimsy armor.
But to quiet the outrage of nearsighted
fusion of indignant disharmony,
I welcome the profusion of instability,
and what seems fake,
becomes a mandate,
and what is real rakes the embers of yesterday’s fire aside,
and radiant solace entices my crooked glance, invites my austerity
to consider the breath I take as more than exact furtiveness,
but omnivorously absolute magnificence.
– Sinz

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DISCRETIONARY POLITICS

Discretionary politics. The order of the day is to meander through
the conceived “useful variants”, including and discarding as needed.
I am guilty of this effervesce of moral indiscretion.
Being aware of my involution though, keeps me keen to the wind, and
the course, not set by hand.
– Sinz

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THE LAMB AND THE LION

Have you dreamed of a world without enmity?
Then look into your own heart and accept
the challenge to overcome bitterness with transcendence.
Only then will it become possible for the
lamb to lie down with the lion.
– Esinz

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THE STATUE

To be of substance, of relative value, concerted as reliable fortune in matters of concern to those whose pretenses follow shallow rivers to murky coves, I relinquish my sword. My valor prevails in dusty heels,
only the flapping linen of my shirttail answers the mad herd. I cannot be overtaken.

My stride is resourceful, calculated in millenniums of sonnets never penned. The word of the world is not my concern, but rather, my compass.
I am aware of the fatal direction dictated by drunken sailors of sinking vessels, Valhalla is their journey’s destination.

Ill follow the Tempest, and never sway my course, for it is justified to believe. Doubt recoils from me. I am The Statue.
– Sinz

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SARDONIC AGONY

In this prison of time, the executioner waits,
the grim peril looms on the killing field, the grass amber red.
I think as a short pigeon, and act as a hawk,
fidgeting with numbers in the dark hall,
peeking in the shadows of senseless motions that dim in sight,
only to flash thru my dilemma of sardonic agony,
and free the rafters of the spider’s soul sucking riptide undercurrent that pulls me down.
Escape the fenced tragedy I have as my deliverance? No, to that end I do not struggle.
I laugh at the occult forbearing etchers and carve
my path with a glance. I know. I watch.
I never stand still. I see that which is not.
– Sinz

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SUBLIME ANTIQUITY

Sinz revels in the moss grass thickness of the orchard glen’s sublime antiquity,
the cackling of sergeants amuses the general’s restless insight for the time of a firefly’s flicker.
– Sinz

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THE SERPENTS TONGUE

The fortunate, swaggering daggers in tenfold cusps of lesser reason
than God’s quiet intention, eschew the
Shakespearean cult that engages the twisted columbine,
resourceful as the serpent’s tongue, to taste the fleck of dust and see, and hear,
without remonstrance, seething in transverse beauty,
the now and then of forever,
far from reach of hand or pen.
– Sinz

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TRANSIENT PEACE

Transient peace, of a quality of mercy, pervades
my prevalence of duty, or requiem,
commits my subtle being of self-naivety to underscored tumult in exacting a true spirit,
a “gamblers luck dogma”, that collides with my ration that “I alone” make the high road
a veneered Stratocaster to heaven’s gate. The farmer of sticks for kindling is my resolve to be heir to.
The fires are furious with knowledge of vanity’s loquacious dilemma, the truth serum of gargoyles,
piercing glances from hindsight, trembling
sanctimonious hallucinations. Obliquity of finality is rust,
and that is my saving grace. Farewell my canon, take to the northern lights,
the skies of requiem never bled so true.
– Sinz

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IMMINENT BEING

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.
– Esinz

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ARGYLE ESCAPE

I fear I will have to quarter the dime to save my sharecroppers Rembrandt exile.
Remind my soles to chirp the gravel,
drag not an empty ounce further till the severer
of heads removes mine,
and places it on the mast of a juniper ship, bound for ignominy in 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 hack seed.
Remove my feathers of dampened flight.
Ill float in osmose tidings,
from servile dominion to argyle escape!
– Sinz

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VEILED HORIZONS

The wind is slamming my trailer,
that eerie howl echoes across the lake, and there is no one,
not a soul, not even a bug, to look to and divide the fear.
I dig myself into the rafters of that low
ceiling of mirthless clementine, reluctant 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.
– Sinz

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THE SMILEOF THE SANDMAN

Watching snow melt, examined as metaphor in all contextual related circulations
of quasi sub extractions of explanative conjecture,
compares the dominion of the seeker
of Solomon’s refractive incite to a wisp of a straw
on a weary stone.
The watercress of knowing is to internalize my
subjective affirmatives,
deriding those instincts to instruct the so thought less informed (they know more than shows).
Instead, my gulp of Ishmael’s intense struggle
becomes fodder for my own integrity,
which strengthens my heel against the 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 the belly of the misbegotten trudgens 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.
– Sinz

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THE WINGED ARGONAUT

There is a bird on my roof,
a claw digging winged argonaut,
a stratosphere jumper of an anxious pecking disorder.
The trajectory is that of minimized reluctance to
acquire a taste for the meanderings of my synaptic occupant.
Have I concealed my depth?
I lack the care for integral astronomy.
I say no!
The seismograph clicks.
I am a doubter.
Let me particulate my research into the goings on of humans,
rather than the unseen resonant creature on my roof.
It is of the fast deed! The immediate!
Quash the unpredictable upheaval that I suspect!
It is now the bird walks.
I will supplant with constrain my raucous fervor!
– Sinz

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MERCY’S BOUQUET

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. Easterbrook,
you taught me well. As for the stories in your little books,
they sent me straight to hell.
Lying does not 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 prism,
staring at a light, or rather, a dim refraction of my
brain’s translucence,
and I calculate the rhymes.
And I realize that it is no surprise.
A power transfixes me. That is mercy’s bouquet.
– Sinz

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SAND DUNE LITHOGRAHS

Satire at best loses its flavor,
when ingested with virtuous candy.
It is sort of introspect nonlogic,
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 fliting in the hazelnut bushes.
– Sinz

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THE STRANGLEHOLD JUDGE

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 Other Men. The weight of the masses
I redeem for the lightness of foot; the Stranglehold Judge I am not.
– Sinz

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THE BULLFIGHTER

It is not lost on me, that transient disbelief in sold out bargains,
liquid assets that dry up in muddy ponds after the rains of glory cease fighting the sun.
Yes, I have one trick left in my dog and pony show.
The pundits will rale at this,
excitement of breaths unerringly mingling with salivary slanders.
Sinz, you dog of warriors!
Cast from metal and stone,
crushed in velvet overlaid crimson magnitude,
of fires hellish abandon.
We will you to trestle rock, bear the load of supersonic trains on steel girths.
We travel on the high drifts of calamity, and rush to mark your demise on our calendars of incrimination. Ha! But I cannot please the lifeless
jungle mass’s quest for blood in cold streets.
I cannot be beat. I cannot lose.
I do not strive to conquer or win; any battle is of inconsequence. I have already won.
Let the confusion reign in the halls of the disparate lingerers of anarchy.
The question is the underbelly of my freedom. I ask, but I know the answer.
Thank you, my benefactors of freedom, I walk in the arena of the undaunted.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE SMILE OF THE SANDMAN

Watching snow melt, examined as metaphor in all contextual related circulations of
quasi sub extractions of explanative conjecture,
compares the dominion of the seeker of
Solomon’s refractive incite 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 less thought informed (they know more than shows).
Instead, my gulp of Ishmael’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 trudgens 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.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE FLIP SIDE

Everything is a miracle, but then when you constantly see them, they become passe…
or, on the flip side (everything has a flip side), you start making miracles into your own miracles,
and then life becomes a collaborative adventure with the universe into the unknown.
And perhaps the greatest miracle of all is consciousness,
which allows us to perceive miracles everywhere and make of them what we will!
– Esinz

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THE QUIET EYES OF SOLITUDE

Solitude waits in depths of the shadow of thoughts,
that vacuous realm of resolve, always sublime,
yet tactful and inquisitee, precise, though dismal,
an incognito respite for the soul traveled beggar of dooms disrepair.
The knowledge seeks its level in anachronistic mercy for not forgotten sectors of strife.
All is not lost in the terror of times trespass. To gain the unknown and
lose the forgotten steps of the flow of creation and a gamble is thrown to the wolves of destiny.
I must not take away the frivolity of near miss counterproductive silence in forging through to mayhems tusk.
Let the raffle begin! Bargain with the quiet eyes of solitude? Ill not.
The winner takes all and all is of what? Take it straw master!
And I recede to my emptiness, the song is sung, the rafters are empty.
– Sinz

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THE CAT BY THE DOOR

Tax the weary to feed the poor, but the cat still sleeps by the door, wanting more.
– Sinz

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THE MARCH TO DESTINY

The March to Destiny never ends in defeat for the desperate souls that see through the haze a Lighthouse,
sea washed and dreary stone in desolations darkness.
It is not the light that spurs the Trident to the call,
but the darkness, the fear, the reach for the unknown.
I dabble in known respect because I cannot conjure up the truth.
It plagues my hearts beating moments and ruptures my tendons in spurts of rampage bewilderment.
Never underestimate the sparrow, the hawk’s beak is its teller of doom.
But, to the destiny, was it not the intention.
Drawn as a picture, known as a face
that appears in the mirror and swoops down on the
escarpment to linger and relish that moment of spinning light.
– Sinz

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THE SORCERESSES OF SALDIA

The Sorceresses of Silda cackle in mania,
for the sun burns the flesh of evenings cold upheaval,
the rank in file substitute for austere blankets,
disheveled dogs of tongue-tied maidens of misfortunes refuge.
Can the mine shaft drop to the inner core of self-treason?
Fool the neighbor’s cat from the tree. But know the hard grounds musty
scent in downturn will only cushion the fall of the hopeless.
Till it is needed, none will prevail. So, I am destitute in remorse for long trailers on paths in naked woods.
See through the foragers crest fallen August. The abolished flee but the honorable stay to find.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE ART OF STAYING UNBUSY

Is it my intention to claw my way through the erratic
gel of atmospheric confusion that is, was, or might be.
To bend the moments to my derisional scope of non-equitable conclusions,
wrestling the sea monsters of Odysseus’s peril.
Who thought this mayhem?
Not the starlet winging high, the possum’s tail wrapped to the branch.
The litany of obtuse contriving conjectures can overwhelm the obvious
visitation that I am only granted per chance by an unknown pretense.
To be active requires no travel in the auto bureaucracy of self-serving
indulgences of whims and wishes. Quietly tackle the ghost. That is my requiem of timidity.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE MONSTER CLAWED BEHEMOUTH

Wrestle the thoughts at the ageless sea,
tide weary among soldier’s warfare struggles,
the beggars swoon in the heat of relentless pleasure in acrimony.
Sought after, the Trillian Summer wreaks havoc on blood folk.
But The Unknown feels all forever in the vast.
The Emperor of Shiloh is
masked in sown cloths too.
Ask for the foundation to weakness, and crumble!
Sing the platitudes of foregone Saturn’s eclipse.
This twist is sure.
Find the source and the question broadens in perspective.
The answer is yes to the little bird,
and no to the monster clawed behemoth.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE BLOOD OF REASON

Sideways I find myself, relinquished of that duty only,
the paramount injustice, taken in times immortality.
I have no being or has been.
A frothy mark to bear that is.
To share a moments sun glow on the tempest.
Now I recall the earnest of my mistake.
The road that twines in heavens shadow unfolds to requiem and slanderous dishevel.
Yes, I do believe in the audacious humor set about for my service in the forests idle wild border.
Ask a shepherd’s flock to spare the divide, and reel in the twinkle eyed stare. I do have just reason.
I will use it. Antagonists of monsoon halls of search lights stumbled and yet there was a floor on the vast anvil’s aperture. Hindsight is small fruit.
A touch is but a hazelnut.
But a report that signals “go my friend, and give up your rifle, your sword,
and valor, to the only child”, is the wine, the blood of reason.
– Sinz

—————————————–

I am the traveler’s footsteps only. The alchemist’s mystic hue.
A purveyance seen in the window of ephemeral transition.
– Sinz

—————————————–

VACUOUS OFFERINGS

Lavished in the wealth of nations, the seeker finds no solace. The rinds of forgotten fruit decay and become the soil of the downtrodden,
for the sake of redemption. I am not the book of time. I tick though. And each second whisks away the eyes of prosperity’s
weak hinge on the gilded door that closes out the truth.
I can see for not, hear for envy, reach the sash to close the light.
Tell me of which is my domain. The shepherd of seagulls,
or the cyclone of vacuous offerings.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE PRECIPICE

To be at the precipice, that jumping off point in a communication of dilemma and hope,
that thin wire coiled to a magnet,
energy that transposes thought or invention,
that instant reason, doubtless debacle,
is the intent of my being.
Peripheral anecdotal quotes,
gestures forthright to amuse or construe validation of proposed quandaries are of no value.
Can I, as Not God, persuade the fortunes of Solomon’s children to rest the sword from antipathy,
close the deeper wounds of calamity chewed by senseless oversight, pierced by the armor of the dark haven within,
and restore the valley to the fine earth of antiquity?
I must be always aware that I am the fortune of emperors and knaves,
And I can hug the wind, hand grace to straw,
ford the river on the shepherds raft, but I search only to not be found.
– Sinz

—————————————–

EXTEMPORANEOUS QUANDARY

If I could figure time spent versus time saved,
I would travail in an obtuse circumference relative to grass clippings raked in the fall’s bleakness.
To gather the news in a system of errors, prevailing may be concluded as fortunate liberty.
I will save this timely periodical of portends,
and revisit my acrimony of gestures when I have more time to compute my extemporaneous quandary.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE LOST SHOEHORN

Nathan Bridlehorn, the begetter of synonymic prayers for animated rock crayon drawings,
lost footing on a narrow canyon cliff, and falling, screamed “I’ll find that shoehorn”. Splat!
Seems life is all about something, until it’s done. And then it’s just about a lost shoehorn.
– Sinz

—————————————–

VAGUE INSITE LOGIC

Vacuous conscious reality, the source of denied exportation of my credulous concepts of mortality,
continues to exact a measure of sustained triviality from my always skating rink dilemma,
para flight jumpstart repour with that undertow current,
that push pull riptide sasquatch that reasons to, at best, vague insight logic.
So far from the truth is my realized consciousness. I unimagine the future and see clear. Sinz is shooting thru a perchance crystal cyclone. Fast is slow. I am not to dawdling.
So, to see truly, I turn my head from the matters of motions, and know that, of received invites to illusion, I can accept only the arbitrary trifling’s of principles and pendants.
– Sinz

—————————————–

ABSOLUTE FAITH

“One thing that is absolute is faith. And having said this, faith does not mean entitlement.
It is humility. I can easily give in to self-doubt (lack of faith). Faith is not arrogance.
Faith is not power. Faith is refractive introspection. Karma. It is a search to obtain peace within.
I never fight. I have no enemy. I am beyond the reach of hate.
There is an aura that surrounds my material being. I have nothing, yet I have all.
I must dream beauty for it to be. Any evil is of my conception.
I lay on a flat rock in the middle of a river, the hot sun, cicadas, whisper willows,
all at my beckoning. The bad dreams are replaced with benevolence and virtue,
but only with time and patience, which is absolute faith.”
– Sinz

—————————————–

FIRE AND ICE

As the stars in the heavens shine brightly into the interstellar void,
we stand up against the despair of our lost dreams.
The moon shines luminously in its reflective desolation
and the sun burns blindingly in its atomic fire,
and so, we are caught between their fire and ice in a world of beauty and horror.
How then should we live? I say live like the stars and the sun to shine into the darkness.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TWO BROTHERS

Cryptic knowledge, that system clangor irony of futile awareness, without tangible proof,
that supplants the over ridden testimony of millenniums of sages, profits and poets,
that have inundated the philosophical waters with interpretations of intentions,
unconcealed by nonchalant citizens, pervading this osmotic rock we cling to,
is entropic desperate protonema.
Far be it for our simple gestures of hieroglyphic.
transpositions to equate more than a communication between the brothers Sinz and Esinz
that supersedes the established rule of conjecture. To follow the auspices of Rumi,
our benefactor in this pursuit, persuades the actions of a discussion that is transparent,
oblique, and perfunctory. The Brothers of Mayhem unite in stealth awareness of a rational
fact that we are limited by our knowledge beyond good and evil. Let the mighty sword of
the demigod of frivolity pierce our tongues with Solomon’s secrets. Ingest the syrup of
introversion’s subsonic death crawl, see to the quick disposal of all evidence
that relinquishes the burden of diplomacy, and relish in the act of encountering
the enemy in it’s state of ambiguity. We aim for no objective clarity.
We do not care to affect change.
Rather, we evoke the weary trigger
of optimism to guide our conversations that we may whisper in the ear of justice.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE ROCK IN THE SHOE

The void is interchangeable with respect to the balance of reasonable contradictions of presumed cognizance.
Purge the will of the dreams and suffer the stifling freeze of destinations turmoil,
an ingot of gold, the rock in the shoe, the polarization of emptiness,
of calamity forced by struggle in retrospective enlightenment.
How do the innocents prevail in the cat paw
toying of the interpreted righteous fellows that sleep only to awake the crows on the devil’s backbone,
annihilating the future of the quiet eyes, the ones that might forgive the dreamy nightfall,
to let the rain cheat the sun one more time.
I am aware of the beauty,
the ox is the burden of the manifestation of men of light domains,
frivolous curriers to the troth of fortune.
The truth is known to
the agile warrior that seeks no redemption,
that motive of circumspect alliance to
the thicket of vines on the shadowy path,
a predisposed disposition to ache for the ages,
but revive the weary with optimism.
– Sinz

—————————————–

LITTLE BIRD

Little bird tapping on my shoulder, give me a clue. Where does the tree meet the sky?
The very top, the highest branch, the conical essence of majesty in the realm of fortune?
The sky huggers sway, the light and air are pure treasure,
and free to the kingdom of solemn oak, birch, redwood, or the like.
The passing of time has abundance in nature, and really, no conjecture. For conversation is moot.
Little bird can hop the low branch to the forest floor, and in an instant visit the pinnacle.
I see none but the making of my destination. The trappings of youth,
the reeling of age-old prophesies into context vertigo is my breath in intangible partitions of insight.
I need nothing of the earth, the earth needs much of me though. I transgress the obvious,
dream to the highest branch, yet it is not my hierarchy to flit about chirping.
I am to listen and be told in seasons and whispers,
and remedy the broken branches for the little bird.
– Sinz

—————————————–

A SMALL TALK

Constance Freeling, the inside switch maiden of the town of Culverts Dam,
two hundred miles from the Davenport Reservoir, relays the telegram,
signals the train to slow in the harbor station, and pulls the last lever of her night,
to look out the dismal window to the hollow street of her denial.
The strain of mundane life has reckoned with her soul and the tears of
struggles have creased her vacant, stone face.
The race begins to scuddle the ship at birth. Into the realm of posthumous terror we are cast,
and Constance is a mirror of all that is.
I am not to be as I am seen says the ghost.
Pretending to know is the characteristic of failure, the block of ice the sun wont melt.
Does poor Constance know?
I should ask for a small talk with her in my dreams tonight.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE SUREFIRE STRAGGLER

The quiet eyes search the globe of tarnished weathervanes,
calypso sliding into the fall patterns of afterthought,
carousing the inert slopes of the May winds valley,
the ever-sought realm of tenseness that forces the blood to follow the veins in a heartless
society of somber misunderstanding.
The result of a mix-up might be the outcome of a moments joy.
To watch the candles light,
the Surefire Straggler shown the way,
the ruff hewn solid oak banister that guides the stair to the rooms atop,
slick as powder, can lead a soulless caravan to attics of forgotten and cast free thoughts.
Those are my entitles, real as now, but quiet, sleeping only to awake in my black
turbulent triangle of transcendence.
– Sinz

—————————————–

A COMEDY OF DRAMA

I see through the thicket of grapevine and thistle that hides the gate to the meadow.
But I do not wish to clear that path yet.
I am of use on this side of the fence, for I am strong beyond the reckonings of fortitude.
I know the dawn, the dusk and the hours between.
I am the weakest of the players that grace the stage in this comedy of drama,
this sphere of bewilderment I call my world. Through weakness and self-doubt,
fear and anger, my arrogance and cruelty to those that could have suffered my
wrath is diminished to a slight. Let them play. I am not the master of destiny.
I am of the wood, the rock. I, myself, am the thicket that hides the fence.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SPIRITUM MEUM

Modi sunt, per spiritum meum, et mitis sapientia,
non est salience regum, et fratres mei.
– Sinz

—————————————–

DELICIOUS DEMISE

Is it enough to be stranded on this rock of angel dust and fairy shadows,
reclined in solar bliss, trapped yet free, chained to an eerie mechanism of fate?
I was bewildered, until the fall, the fall of ruin, the dust of decadence.
Now, I know, and a new philosophy outweighs my corruption of insight.
I am amused. A pleasant surprise to my belonging in the mayhem. I escape no treasure,
no ambiance of texture enthralls me, I capture water in deserted eyelids.
I peruse the pitch of snares that would tear my enigmatic shroud,
expose my angst at dawns reclamation of the darkness that I so love.
Amused at my insolent genius, that knows of all, to the limits of sarcasm,
the laughter of elves in orbit. Throw the lantern down the well,
to see the escape is exotic, a wisp of fresca foretells the awakening to a delicious demise.
– Sinz

—————————————–

FAITH AND DOUBT

Universes unfold and collapse in time and space,
but what about the furtive struggles of life in fear and passion?
Do they ever dissipate? I do not have the answer; however, perhaps some reckoning,
and evening solace, can be found in the silence of the dead of winter
and in the storm-tossed seas of faith and doubt.
– Esinz

—————————————–

HAPPENSTANCE

The beggar trolls the wood and glen,
And happenstance pretends,
To lift the sky to heavens breach,
A second chance begins.
For all creations manifest,
Defeat of sorrows told,
A kindly gesture serves the king,
A ransom for his gold.
– Sinz

—————————————–

FAITH AND DOUBT

The measure of our joys and sorrows can be found in the confluence of the ocean and the desert.
When they meet there is the exhilaration of pounding waves crashing onto silent sand!
However, there is also the discontentment of an irreconcilable conflict in their eternal separation.
So be like the sea and the sand – go boldly into embracing both ecstasy and despair!
Be enveloped by the beauty to be found in the contemplation of both faith and doubt!
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE GUILT OF THE AGES

I stand on liberty, moral aptitude, excluding reason, strangled by syntax,
exacted presumptions on my shoulders, wishing to flee the cursed guest I take my tribute from.
For I do not wish to be the beacon of Hercules, nor the burden of a goat.
Sauce for the banquet of humility is of plenty, and I can douse my meager meal with envy too.
There is no crash of mortar as my pedestal collapses. No, it is only to be built again by conflicted hands.
I must! And why not? Ill knock on the door of respite at my leisure.
I decline to hail the Prince for the guilt of the ages.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE INTREPID

The philosophy of men gifted with the eyes of children, who see the narrow to be vast,
recedes in the shadows of ambiguity and resides as a foothold on the travails of the intrepid.
– Esinz

—————————————–

ENMITIES FERVOR

The shallow grave of destiny denies the wolves of fate their morsel of enmities fervor,
but they dig in rapacious revel of this vacuous exon’s blanket of dust,
a template of a universe’s empire, this mad with compulsion, exploding in chaos, perfect in rhythm,
jester’s folly kingdom of jackals. I fall to the way of the kings of Saturn’s victrola!
Save for the speck of sand, I am not. The bones of glory are the stars that never shown bright.
– Sinz

—————————————–

INFINITE CONCIOUSNESS

What is Infinite Consciousness? Perhaps it is merely the doppelganger of our random perceptions of
reality and the impossibilities of bizarre and strange worlds beyond our comprehension.
– Esinz

—————————————–

SATURN’S TWIST

Is it the quickened step of the of horse,
the hoofs of time surrendering their hastened blow on earthen wine?
Or could it be the dog’s breath of Saturn’s twist, regaling in the frost of stolen winters curse?
Fast as it might, the slow decent of the tale of the draconian wordsmith’s plight is an
incrimination in salutatory remonstrance that takes the earthen chalice to the envious Gods of Sargon.
The plight of angels fallen from an earmarked for collapse thimble head of asylum, is the flower’s petal.
The dragonfly’s contempt is a minor flaw in the falls shadow.
As the honeybee, and I am not immortal,
as the new blades of grass will wither.
But I am circumvented by a fantasy,
the angular line that renounces polarity.
There is not a start, nor a beginning.
For there is no end.
The parable foretells the date of springs return.
– Sinz

—————————————–

REDUX POSH SANGUINITY

Complications are the foundation on which I have built my crumbling house of cards.
Extricating the savor of nonchalant criticism from derelict absolutions requires
tenfold the trial-and-error assumptions than I can devote.
Some metaphoric championing of whittled
away jargon temps me to the side of anarchical defiance.
A hole in the roof to peek at the sun?
Ha!
A speck of time takes on the jacket of solvency in error of corrupt manipulations of perspective.
Dare me to commit to the rifles tongue!
The quick maiden hastens to the whiskered cats frolic
with redux posh sanguinity,
and the boiled over kettle is again reduced to a mere bowl of gruel.
The stage is set.
My contempt is an afterthought of resilience to backlash poignancy.
Pay no mind to the giant’s tongue lashing, for to slay the beast I require but two steps into the devil’s doorway!
– Sinz

—————————————–

RATIONAL HARMONIES

In the unfiltered light of new revelations comes the darkness of inchoate knowledge.
The philosopher must stand bound to the mast of the ship of inquiry to prevail against
the siren’s call of abject belief in the contemplation of worlds beyond rational harmonies
and preconceived destinies.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TOUCAN RHAPSODIES

The Philodendron speaks to the ease of the chalice of the monarchy in a sublime retrospect that
enhances the rain drops certainty in celebration of a clover treatise.
Under cuttings in vases of the informed rationale, those whose senses rely on quips from quotations
that resolve institutions rational,
a quiver, a green nutmeg brown twisting crawling
vine of despotic regalia, demure, unchallenged by neglect.
A society of reflection disposed
of treason to the unyielding foray of butterfly whims and Toucan Rhapsodies.
– Sinz

—————————————–

INTERREGNUM

Interregnum of the possibilities of belief is the beginning of transformational concepts.
Look at the stars and contemplate the emptiness of space and time.
– Esinz

—————————————–

AB INITIO

The queer eyed rabbit stirs in the metal pot of languor amidst trifles
in sage brush shadows on his hindered path of rap scallion destiny.
Awry is the crooked trail and dense is the misshapen underbrush of thorn and thistle.
Quick to the lament of the cockroach spins the hourglass in
a dust havoc pirouetting storm giants claw foot, an angular twist and trap,
and hitherto a spry tooth invites darkness to a creature of light,
exposing the subterranean viciousness of ab initio.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE LAMENTATIONS OF THEIVES

Atonement, as justification for some surreal anti theological dispersion of
a self-righteous connection to an otherwise ephemeral concept of provocative restraint,
notwithstanding that bit of coagulation of empathetic nostalgia
that leads the heart of conscious men to remedy the plight of discernment of right vs wrong with focused actions that disdain reclamation.
I must always be aware of the credulous assimilation of self-doubt
into the pool of vigilant incrimination such as, is always,
the stronger motive, that being, justice left to the lamentations of thieves.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE REVOLVER

Fear not. I have not crossed the path of the wildebeest.
I see the fortune of the Trinity incarnate.
Breath I must the dust of a thousand hooves,
to swallow the pride of countless transgressions, the haze of winter salutes my marrow,
the sun is an arrow that pierces my psyche, I revolt against nothing. I am the Revolver.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE VOID OF RECIPROCATING SUNLIGHT

Stare into the void of reciprocating sunlight to hear the chimes of manifesting destinies.
Then you will know the meaningless beauty of the absurd banality of perceived existence.
– Esinz

—————————————–

UNREQUITED BEING

Our solipsistic journey to oblivion is periodically obviated by momentary
glimpses of surreal manifestations encountered in the pure perception of meaningless beauty.
Behold the tadpole swimming for life in a muddy pothole and perhaps you may see the opulent
glory of unrequited being.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE WORDS OF PAUPERS

It might be of benefit to unveil the shark tooth grimace he held under
his breathless conjured up folly that was neither of both worlds taciturn nor ambivalent.
He held that which is certain in circumspect, maligned and misguided reluctance to
participate in treasure or theatrical underpinned resolution.

He forgave of none the select dowry held by ransom to the magistrate’s jest,
the land locked skirmishes of salutations sacrificed for ratification of fantastic
symbols of erstwhile finger jabbers, those stating opulence to be their magnitude.
Rest assured the diner eats no fare that does not consume its share in natures dilemma.

To fight the skirmish in tired out dogma? Of no part takes the dragon,
who knows of power in less spacious dreams. Over in the quick! Linger not,
or rest dreary in the wood, and marry the earthen struggle again stalwart
pilgrim and see the remedy is short lived by its unvenerable keepsake,
the rasp of the key turning the lock, the clang of poisons remorse that
sends the salient message to trembling lips that kiss the feet of kings,
yet speak the words of paupers.
– Sinz

—————————————–

UNREQUITED RESOLUTIONS

Fly beyond the bounds of truculent sorrow into the depths of abject despair
and you will find the distillery of the mind’s immortal search for meaning in
a meaningless void of pure apathy and vapid waves of unrequited resolutions.
Then, take heart, for now you may laugh into the face of all adversities
and adversaries till the end of time and space.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TRANSPARENT OPTIMISM

So quiet the night. Seems just. Though truly I know of injustice more sincere.
Ill linger a bit, and perhaps take heed of the hanging branches that
scold the gloom of this forest nocturn. The shadow willows denial of hollow laughter,
echoes of paths to farthest meadows that gleam in purity’s milk. Of dandelions,
the orphans of the despondent, the ridiculed beauties of lost charm. Where to merry gentlemen?

Where to? On the steed of justice ride the henchmen of naivety’s grave. They plunder, against veracity, once again to remain the despot’s night crawlers.
Venomous. Rhapsodic. Virtuous. Romantic. Is it the minute or the hour?
Fear is transparent optimism. Pain is denial. Justice is neither.
– Sinz

—————————————–

DESTABILIZED REEMERGENCE

The lattice of black holes is the bed the of Pantokrator.
Wept steel forges the breath of Janus as she creeps atop the
crib of the pharaonic capitol – mesmerized by the twirling mobile
of a bicameral neural net…the inverted pyramid digs further into the terrain.
Inhaling pure vitriol is our only redemption. Dying isn’t hard.
Living isn’t hard. It is the moments in between that get me. It is Destabilized Reemergence.
– Sinz

—————————————–

EPHEMERAL TOXICITY

I pass through vivid stratospheres of crystallized sediments that fill
the void of fixated rehearsals of yet to be quandaries,
enveloped notations addressed to the recipient of another plane,
a particle of dust, the true me of another’s hypothesis,
encrypted tones of silent metaphors that beckon my acknowledged participation.
I know all, yet I doubt. And it is the second of unsureness that defeats
my quest for truth. Why question my answer to a problem that is of the
nature of ephemeral toxicity?
I can pass the bargain counter of fears.
I came to die. Who has not?
– Sinz

—————————————–

STAGNANT TRANQUILITY

Weigh into the dirges of the lamenting songs of wrongs unrighted and you
will hear the nascent journeys of spirits striving for perfection
in the vacuous halls of unrequited lust and love. Admire nor pity them,
for they are marionettes in the remorseless and everlasting search for
meaning beyond the simple beauty of eternal bliss and stagnant tranquility.
– Esinz

—————————————–

STERTOROUS SENTIMENTALITY

Sliding down the solipsistic slope of stultifying, superficial, sagacious,
salacious, and supercilious stretches of semi-sentient serpentine
sequences of stertorous sentimentality – what could be more fun or less worthless?
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE SHADOW OF A SMILE

Erstwhile relic of summers folly,
Calamity’s journey collides with eventide.
The sweet melancholy lake,
The glimmer of hope’s return,
The shadow of a smile,
Hastens the hour of enchantment.
– Sinz

—————————————–

PALLIATIVE GEOMETRIC CONSTRUCTS

The defragmentation of corporeal non-phased binary inculcations justifying
the inertness of superficially palliative geometric constructs of
reality creates the perception of consciousness.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TRANSFIGURATION

Irascible Rasputin, I know thee well! Come see the infarctions born
of impotent despot’s intent on preserving themselves in the face of the
mercurial dance of future histories. Then, perhaps, I will know the
beauteous glow of infinite archetypes annihilated by the transfiguration
of disparate realities unfolding without care or consideration for any evil,
or righteous, cause or transformational endeavor!
– Sinz

—————————————–

EXISTENTIAL JUSTIFICATION

The rising of the co-fixture of imminent capitulation in the face
of the Gods of grace and sorrow is the song of decay and justice in
a world of bifurcated delusions of heaven and hell. So, sing Goddess,
of the wrath of quiescent tyranny in the jaws of malevolent
dedication to the wrath of the impartial stupefaction of all notions
of a saving grace or existential justification.
– Sinz

—————————————–

DESTINY PARLANCE

It would appear unjust, this trident hemisphere mangled in misleading’s,
the crap shoot destiny parlances, the grim defeatist social framing,
the intricate detailed manipulations of contrived guilt,
the hash slinging orators’ tangents that tinge the waters
and recreate the fallen archangel’s testimonial wrath.
The spirited offerings of haloed virtue regress in empathetic
reluctance to battle natures solution to misguided
conceptions of world order. This saturated circumference races to a
destiny unknown to all its travelers, yet the least lead the most in
untruths, in a rock scissors paper rational. So, I collect my ruminations
and half-truths and spin my compass.
– Sinz

—————————————–

DEEP DELUSION

There is a world at the end of the world.
I have created it, so I know it is there.
It is not emptiness or formless or void.
It has no face, and darkness does not float
above it’s abysses.
Hark! It is a truth of this world.
Those abysses are merely shallow layers of deep
delusion. Planes upon which our own reflections descend.
– Sinz

—————————————–

HOPE

The range of disparity is infinite,
but the beauty of hope is transcendent.
– Esinz

—————————————–

DIGNITY

You can rule the world.
See the beauty
In this soulless struggle,
Embrace the wilderness of disrepair.
And reign with dignity.
– Sinz

—————————————–

VINDICATION

Unearth the ashes of benign tranquility and smell the sadness
and beauty of lost ages of loveless contempt and vindication.
– Esinz

—————————————–

DISREPAIR OF THOUGHT

Die devil dogs!
Recur the rath of Hates!
Slumber in the mirth of rectitude!
Be that we are blind to our soulless plot,
To toil in disrepair of thought.
– Sinz

—————————————–

ETERNITY

Fall from grace and you will taste the heaven of eternity.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE ARCHERS ARROW

I am neither short nor tall,
Round nor small,
Quick nor slow,
Hot nor cold.
Shameless cities,
They’re fortunes sold,
Lavish splendor on,
Ancient soil.
I will not bargain,
What I do not know,
Perhaps it is,
The ebb and flow.
The archers arrow flees the bow,
Where it lands,
There you will know.
– Sinz

—————————————–

BICYCLE LOGIC

They are like real life people.
But they live so……on the edge.
You know how you put a bicycle together for your kid’s Christmas present,
but you still have a few nuts and bolts left over, and they are not extras.
Well merry Christmas. That is fine.
But to live a life of always leaving a few parts out of the puzzle and
being okay with it but wondering why your life is a mess is where I must
dissolve my interest in the evolution of humanity.
That is peripheral longevity. Seething, meshing, dopamine banging ersatz.
Keep to the salt man! Take note. I have renounced the epicenter of destiny’s
churning emblem “I’m doing the best a can”.
For damn sure the rocker squeaks to the cats swinging tail.
– Sinz

—————————————–

BOMBASTIC GRUNTS

The pending sacrament proclaimed upon the earth by the hearty hymns of ages gone by is transfigured for eternity by the bombastic grunts of cavemen into the hopeless dissolution of meaningless rants uttered in the name of righteousness.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE ASHES OF MAYHEM

I rant about solitudes unfortunate overachievers,
the damned self-righteous, been there, done that heathens,
that rake the planets subculture of mud house tyrants
of any conjecture that parallels sanctimony.
Tear the traitorous scoundrels that mirror peace in
actions of impetuosity’s demons. Who stands alone among the wolves of avarice?
Maybe a tin can kicking boy could obscure with little notice
the skinned knee town crier’s rationality, blessing humanity with cruel stupidity,
their own self plagiarizing free fall of common brutality.
I breath the air of giants that gobble up the rectifiers rattle and chain,
and spew the earths damned to the brimstone fire, the ashes of mayhem.
– Sinz

—————————————–

JUST PORTENT

I commented on the scripture. Wrath and bone marrow, stoned up through the glass panorama,
the holy feral cat of Altamira’s shadow. Who is to say? I reply. “In the gut of reason,
no man of silicon weaved polish returns the sermon until the rails of San Benista arch
the hovering spectacle of drama, and the bedeviled vixen claws the chambers, victimless,
with ivory coast ice….the certainty of calamity is just portent.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE LOST WATCH

The soles of my feet regress in off meter puddles of riff sediment,
torn from a decaying edifice of brick and mortar, born from the arms of abhorrent traitors,
scoundrels that traipse the fecund artifices of weary desolation in turmoil’s trusted crevice.
I am the bomb shelter crematorium that winces in sublime agony through the subterfuge of this
Socratic garden outside the ephemeral round table of justifiers. I am not just.
I am loose in trespassed soil on a blasting furnace fired in agony,
verified on a damaged cyclone street in charred elliptic revulsion. I am potent.
Volatile in all aspects. I am resurgent.
I am the watch dropped in the woods that ticks for the
hour of its last remonstrance of futile animation.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE NIGHT IS CALLING

Systematic uproar, ancillary articulation, ripened sarcasms of singular objections, slewn about by the portends of power. Obsessive escalation,
an inability to fathom even the slightest degree of empathy.

Tortured by times insistence. I find the only solace is to decree my soul to the sand dunes of the gallant seas that recede in the wake of fortunes unrehearsed play.

I can make the light appear radiant or soft as a silhouette. The choice is mine. Shall I indulge the riff rafts relentless pleas? Or rebel in tyrannical rage.

Say not followers of freedom! Unscathed by monotony, I am the baffled audience.

The swoon of indignation parlays the question. The pistol’s crack answers with no ambiguity. Blood on the streets. The night is calling.
– Sinz

—————————————–

WICKED DIGESTION

I should be a salamander. To be exact in slime, to frolic along the mud riverbank,
salivating sticky ooze, snatching flies with my tongue.
A delightful cockroach dinner around eventide,
then slither into somnambulant joy in a crack in a drowning log.
But, alas, I am just a garden snake, slithering in the grass.
Swallowed in the nightmare of dragons. Peril unleashed in terror every moment.
But there is justice in mercy. And dreams are wicked digestion.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE TONGUES OF WISDOM

There are those that receive a banquet of redundant butterfly chasing dogs,
smacking bubbles in the air, barking fur ball logic, as a gift of the sages.
Others are cursed with a paranoid animated surrealism exploding in a panoramic vision
that supersedes duplicity in fault. None to blame, guilt in all.
Be it the mesmerization of the wall clock’s respondent tick,
the dribble of a leaky faucet into a wine-soaked tub,
or the cornucopia salient fondue of the smack talking ballpark jerrymanders,
the rhapsody ends soon enough with plagiarized gusto.
Renegade pantomime forestalls the angry chained brute,
his demeanor rails putrid squalor drool,
as the laugh of
ages histories the hillbilly logic of his ancestors.
Even so,
the counselor defends his cursed client, though he knows his guilt.
The money trail is only an obfuscation of the recriminations of the sad passerby’s narrow path.
Who marks the time?
An iconic gesture? An amalgam of seething terror guised in derailed trestle.
The door of judgment is always slightly ajar.
Listen to the voices of children speaking in the tongues wisdom.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SOJOURN

The tongues of wisdom speak ardently about the search for truth,
but do they perceive the stark beauty of a meaningless soliloquy on
the vapid and tasteless sojourn of a starving man
into the realms of disillusionment and despair?
– Esinz

—————————————–

SYNTAX COLLUSION

Incidental particles of generated subterfuge,
that resolve in the substrates of a vehicularish teruggite,
amassed in polished angst, albeit a bit morphosized,
but rather Columbianesque, in a savory way.
These are the emollients. Poltergeists of sorts, a force, the dragoon
clawing theatrics of mad urchins, the train stop whistles vortex,
the dew on time shackled agreements.
Would I partake of such vulgar rhythms as to be a mimes coat of arms
begging the sanctuary of the south’s abundant premonitory challengers to
exemplify an age-old proxy? Quixotic amalgamation of derision forestalls
imbittered translations of syntax collusion.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SATURNS SUN

Three or more could well be four,
And rituals even scores,
When taken in by Saturn’s sun,
The minstrel’s songs are left unsung.
– Sinz

—————————————–

TAILGATE LOGIC

Redemption’s underbelly, bloated with the hot air of sold-out
chess board soliloquies and under achiever’s hack tones,
is fat with Rorschach remedies, abounding in trinkets of solitaire,
house of cards rhythmic notation, berated Anglo Saxon pub kings,
and slayers of good doers of transgression. Shall I mock the sun?
The river’s edge at dawn reminds the social-dilemma order of
hypnotists to conjure the truth from eerie screams.
I say trade these sly maneuvers for the stipend pennies
that mesmerize children in fountains of gold in the limitless
undercurrent of revolving serums and antidotes
given in lieu of the spectators enmity.
I ride to the mark of infamy and scorch the revenant
tourniquet of lack luster entwinement with the order of the day,
or, so to say, the jousting field etiquette, where kingdoms weep in meadows of locust.
The wind is the breath of crimson shadows. It is a dark path I meander through
to an unceremonious collision, with seemingly no recourse but to bide the time
of laconic mesmerization for want of a shooting star metaphor.
The gasp for freedom is no man’s plunder. It is a gift of solitude in variant
decrees of saprophytic circumstances. I vent my incessant largess
on monkey see – monkey do politics, and bring home the bacon with Tailgate Logic.
– Sinz

—————————————–

WHOS TO KILL?

Norman Clature read the times piece on Allred Boyd’s murder for hire scheme he was runnin’ outa his garage right under the nose of the Police Dept one block over! His friggin’ wife shot Red Sanger in the face right outside by that big ol’ pecan tree. Is everyone mad? Can’t hear a shotgun bast 20 yards away? And he slit the guy’s throat too. But the quandary is obnoxious. Who’s to kill?
– Sinz

—————————————–

SARTRE’S GHOST

Not alive, nor young, nor both,
I shun the light,
of Sartre’s ghost.
Fate is just
an odd repose,
that beckons me,
to sanguine hopes.
The recompense is shallow though,
as the pendulum
swings back and forth.
The seconds pass,
with no remorse,
as the fall from grace,
takes its course.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SUBLIME RECOMPENSE

But, as the fall from grace takes its course, so does the opportunity for sublime recompense,
actuated in the tortured souls of heroes
struggling to reach the realms of hope and justice.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TO THE WOLVES

Excel in repair of dissonance.
Prepare for the storm’s
incessant crushing howl.
Revolt in abolition of faith.
To the wolves go the hungry,
desperate to die in revolt,
unshackled now, laconic and swarthy,
the decadent and worldly, the sword of nefarious wrath.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SOCIO SANCTIFIED ENTITLEMENT

The halls beckon my bloody feet to enthrone my justifications on rabid Parthenon soldiers,
those merciless dissevers of critic slandering nebulites, that troll in whispers mist
afoul of cadences and comrades reluctant to derail the Capricorn dogmas that the dredge
of reason cannot tear from the silt and rock of Empirical demise. I will bear the quest.
I will share the doubt. And I will witness the rise of citadels of enterprise,
and the collapse of socio sanctified entitlement.
– Sinz

—————————————–

HOPELESS DISSOLUTION

The pending sacrament proclaimed upon the earth by the hearty hymns of ages gone
by is transfigured for eternity by the bombastic grunts of cavemen into the
hopeless dissolution of meaningless rants uttered in the name of righteousness.
– Esinz

—————————————–

PREHISTORIC PROVIDENCE

Far be it for me to pretend to connect the preverbal dots of ancient
anachronistic parlance’s, sure fire analogies that predicate the
readers enhancement on biker’s rally jargon, set forth by the eye piece
continuum ergo cosmetically rich but mean in temperament social order.
Satiated by the lust of Tom Dooly’s overture, a peculiarly obvious
repartee of second-guessing Satan’s dictates, is a tempting apple
for man of prehistoric providence.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE VOID OF SILENCE

The void of silence whispers assurances of benign transfigurations in
the ever-unfolding desolation of metastasizing entropic manifestations
hiding beneath our most sacred hopes and despairs.
Let us wait in wonder for the merciful annihilation of the infinite perspectives
of all possibilities for redemption and salvation.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE DRAGONFLY

Is it the quickened step of the of horse, the hoofs of time surrendering
their hastened blow on earthen wine?
Or could it be the dog’s breath of Saturn’s twist,
regaling the frost of stolen winters curse?
Fast as it might, the slow decent of the tale of the
draconian wordsmiths’ plight is an incrimination in
salutatory remonstrance that takes the earthen challis to the envious Gods of Sargon.
The plight of angels fallen from an earmarked for collapse thimble head of asylum,
is the flower’s petal.
The dragonfly’s contempt is a minor flaw in the falls shadow.
As the honeybee, and I am not immortal, as the new blades of grass will wither.
But I am circumvented by the fantasy, the angular line that renounces polarity.
There is not a start, a beginning. For there is no end.
The parable foretells the date of springs return.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE DEVILS DOORWAY

Complications are the foundation on which I have built my crumbling house of cards.
Extricating the savor of nonchalant criticism of derelict absolution requires ten
fold the trial-and-error assumption that I devote some metaphoric championing of
whittled away jargon to temp me to the side of anarchical defiance. A hole in roof
to peek at the sun. Ha! A speck of time takes on the jacket of solvency in error
of corrupt manipulations of perspective. Dare me to commit to the rifles tongue!
The quick maiden hastens to the whiskered cats frolic and redux posh sanguinity
and the boiled over kettle is again reduced to a mere bowl of gruel. Stage my
contempt for afterthought of resilience to backlash poignancy. Say no more to
the giants tongue lashing for to slay the beast I require but two steps
into the devil’s doorway!
– Sinz

—————————————–

PRECONCIEVED DESTINYS

In the unfiltered light of new revelations comes the darkness of inchoate knowledge.
The philosopher must stand bound to the mast of the ship of inquiry to prevail
against the siren’s call of abject belief in the contemplation of worlds beyond
rational harmonies and preconceived destinies.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TOUCAN RHAPSODIES

Interregnum of the possibilities of belief is the beginning of transformational concepts.
I look at the stars and contemplate the emptiness of space and time. The Philodendron speaks
to the ease of the chalice of the monarchy in a sublime retrospect that enhances the
rain drops certainty in celebration of a clover treatise. Under cuttings in vases of the
informed rationale, those who’s senses rely on quips from quotations that resolve institutions
rational, a quiver, green nutmeg brown twisting crawling vine of despotic regalia, demure,
unchallenged by neglect. A society of reflection disposed of treason to the unyielding
foray of butterfly whims and Toucan Rhapsodies.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

AB INITIO GRATIS

The queer eyed rabbit stirs in the metal pot of languor amidst trifles in sagebrush
shadows on his hindered path of rapscallion destiny. Awry is the crooked trail and
dense is the misshapen underbrush of thorn and thistle. Quick to the lament of the
cockroach spins the hourglass in a dust havoc pirouetting storm giants claw foot,
an angular twist and trap, and hitherto a spry tooth invites darkness to a creature of light, exposing the subterranean viciousness of ab initio gratis.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

ATONEMENT

Atonement, as justification for some surreal anti theological dispersion of a self
righteous connection to an otherwise ephemeral concept of provocative restraint,
notwithstanding that bit of coagulation of empathetic nostalgia that leads the
heart of conscious men to remedy the plight of discernment of right vs wrong with
focused actions that disdain reclamation. I must always be aware of the credulous
assimilation of self-doubt into the pool of vigilant incrimination such as,
is always, the stronger motive, that being, justice left to the lamentations of thieves.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE REVOLVER

Fear not. I have not crossed the path of the wildebeest. I see the fortune of the
Trinity incarnate. Breath I must the dust of a thousand hooves, to swallow the pride
of countless transgressions, the haze of winter salutes my marrow, the sun is an
arrow that pierces my psyche, I revolt against nothing. I am the Revolver.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

PERCEIVED EXISTENCE

Stare into the void of reciprocating sunlight to hear the chimes of manifesting destinies.
Then you will know the meaningless beauty of the absurd banality of perceived existence.
– Esinz.

—————————————–

THE SOD GATHERER

In society’s citadel, gold bars encrusted blood thickened sharp serrated dreadnought
forked tongued arguments, resolve little of an astronomical sphere of influential
deference to that which is. Tangles of grapevine tassels swirled in the maze of a
forest on honey lacquer dew seeping or endless heaving’s of artful decayed flora,
abundant in swallowed meadows on a tempest whim, evolve incarnate shadows that
restore the unintended deed, that which we pronounce king of the Sod Gatherers
bundle. Joy for refusal to die, the broken winged bluebird hops about, the tree’s heavy
burden is the remembrance of the glooming, the desperation of the acknowledgement
that reels in the tongue of the gate mouthed philosopher that knows of much but
understands of little. I solve no mystery. I lean to the trunk and hang my head
and am crushed by the leaf, the wolf waits hidden, in the thicket, the glory patch.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE SALAMANDER

Watching the cotton grow,
in a distance of a mile or so,
the Salamander contemplates the odd refraction, like he does not know,
of the locomotive, racing across the sanctity of the crimson horizon.
He takes hold
of the prelude, the specters vague austerity,
and slithers into the muddy creek, absolved of remonstrance,
he knows.
Past the highway’s viscous hue,
the storm is never far from view,
only sent by radiant vitriol –
the witches brew.
Can I handle the rust of the ages?
That heat-soaked venom intersperses,
and antiques,
the ramble flow of fortuitous, antipathy.
I am the Salamander. Release me then. I am pains enemy.
Darkness weeps, and winter resides on my protocol. Disunion demystifies.
Paradoxically, I walk with guarded anguish,
should the fall of night,
be my last refrain, of hope’s desperate pulse,
of resilience.
I am the blood of twilight,
the shadow of dusk.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

UNREQUITED BEING

Our solipsistic journey to oblivion is periodically obviated by momentary glimpses
of surreal manifestations encountered in the pure perception of meaningless beauty.
Behold the tadpole swimming for life in a muddy pothole and perhaps you may see the
opulent glory of unrequited being.
– Esinz.

—————————————–

THE DRAGON

It might be of benefit to unveil the shark tooth grimace he held under his
breathless conjured up folly that was neither of both worlds taciturn nor ambivalent.
He held that which is certain in circumspect, maligned and misguided reluctance to
participate in treasure or theatrical underpinned resolution. He forgave of none
the select dowry held by ransom to the magistrate’s jest, the land locked skirmishes.
of salutations sacrifice for ratification of fantastic symbols of erstwhile finger
jabbers, those stating opulence to be their magnitude. Rest assured the diner eats
no fare that does not consume its share in natures dilemma. To fight the skirmish in
tired out dogma? Of no part takes the Dragon, who knows of power in less spacious dreams.

Over in the quick! Linger not, or rest dreary in the wood, and marry the earthen struggle
against stalwart pilgrims and see the remedy is short lived by its unvenerable keepsake,
the rasp of the key turning the lock, the clang of poisons remorse that sends the
salient message to trembling lips that kiss the feet of kings yet speak the words of paupers.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE IMMORTAL SEARCH

Fly beyond the bounds of truculent sorrow into the depths of abject despair and
you will find the distillery of the mind’s immortal search for meaning in a
meaningless void of pure apathy and vapid waves of unrequited resolutions.
Then, take heart, for now you may laugh into the face of all adversities
and adversaries till the end of time and space.
– Esinz.

—————————————–

TRANSPARENT OPTIMISM

So quiet the night. Seems just. Though truly I know of injustice more sincere.
Ill linger a bit, and perhaps take heed of the hanging branches that scold the
gloom of this forest nocturn. The shadow willows denial of hollow laughter, echoes of paths to farthest meadows that gleam in purity’s milk.
Of dandelions, the orphans of the despondent, the ridiculed beauties of lost charm.
Where to merry gentlemen? Where to? On the steeds of justice ride the henchmen of
naivety’s grave. They plunder, against veracity, once again to remain the despots
night crawlers. Venomous. Rhapsodic. Virtuous. Romantic.
Is it the minute or the hour? Fear is transparent optimism.
Pain is denial. Justice is neither.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE BREATH OF JANUS

The lattice of black holes is the bed the of Pantokrator.
Wept steel forges the breath of Janus as she creeps atop the crib
of the pharaonic capitol — mesmerized by the twirling mobile of a
bicameral neural net…the inverted pyramid digs further into the terrain.
Inhaling pure vitriol Is our only redemption.
– Sinz

—————————————–

DESTABILIZED REEMERGENCE

Dying is not hard. Living is not hard. It is the moments in between that get me. I call it Destabilized Reemergence.
I pass through vivid stratospheres of crystallized sentiments.
that fill the void of fixated rehearsals of yet to be quandary’s,
enveloped notations addressed to the recipient of another plane,
a particle of dust, the true me of another’s hypothesis,
encrypted tones of silent metaphors that beckon my acknowledged participation.
I know all, yet I doubt. And it is the split second of unsureness that defeats my quest for pure truth. Why question my answer to a problem that is of the
nature of ephemeral toxicity.
I can pass the bargain counter of fears. I came to die. Who has not?
– Sinz.

—————————————–

A SPARROWS DREAM

Time will come, my friend, that each flower
will bloom at dusk.
And, trembling from the denizens deep, the mad dogs will cower.
Understand though,
I will never give the reigns to the steadfast horse of fortunes demise.
The rock-strewn trail of mercy ends in silence, as the doves retreat,
and the sword of the just comes down
on my flickering light.
From the trickling brook, deny me.
The safflowers have sown their seed to the wind. The guarded basin relinquishes its turmoil.
The havoc often mesmerizes me.
Such children that play in the sun, and cry in the dark, are forgotten.
And the dilemma of uncertainty overtakes the dark passenger on the swift empty train that
disappears in the shadow of a sparrows dream.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

LA CUCARACHA

The snake slithered through the grass and curled up behind a rock and waited. La Cucaracha clicked and clamored about, and a flitting little sparrow grabbed La Cucaracha and began flinging her about. The snake watched. Then struck and ate them both.

Tongue tied, trivial, absurd, mind boggling. That describes the yet to be uncaptured phenomena, that which is unheralded, preconceived, and idiosyncratic double talk. Search the Rembrandt for brush strokes. Count them all. Feel the energy for its own sake. Explain the commotion outside the bonds of self-synergy, benevolent jurors of fate. I neither prescribe nor object. I am not a mender of fences or an open range dilatant seething anecdotal water over a cliff tribute hologram. I hide in the tall grass. I back pedal through the ancient marsh. I stab the silver coin on the buccaneer’s lapel and challenge the boxer’s glove with the sling of ecumenical dispersion of hindsight reminders. I see the often-neglected rhyme in sawdust footprints. The boot of the dead, mad, Russian roulette fighter serves the same purpose as if it we’re on the foot of the soldier of fortune who climbs to the summit and twists his sword to the enemy below. Transpire and regress. Inspire and digest. Early morning and sunset. The rabbit runs, as it is its nature. So be it.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

STAGNANT TRANQUILITY

Weigh into the dirges of the lamenting songs of wrongs unrighted and you will hear the nascent journeys of spirits striving for perfection in the vacuous halls of unrequited lust and love. Admire nor pity them, for they are marionettes in the remorseless and everlasting search for meaning beyond the simple beauty of eternal bliss and stagnant tranquility.
– Esinz.

—————————————–

STENTORIOUS SENTIMENTALITY

Sliding down the solipsistic slope of stultifying, superficial, sagacious, salacious, and supercilious stretches of semi-sentient serpentine sequences of stentorious sentimentality – what could be more fun or less worthless?
– Esinz.

—————————————–

SUMMERS BREATH

I say to my sister, “do you have a task”?
That one braid of summer’s breath, then, as if it were now,
falls on the shoulder of mercy, and weeps
in the depths of remorse. Fragile symbiotic, sage of sorrow.
Do I regret our morning of last repair?
When singlets were of sentiment, and the now distant ripples,
on rivers in gloom, languished in the nocturn?
In so much I cannot recall, nor enlighten.
The current has pulled and twisted.
The depth has no bottom. All is for the builder. The plunder
is in the task. They of less, redeem
the calcified remnants of an otherwise faithless hegemony,
that which denies the spectrum of hope to the resilient few,
those like you who shatter faiths empire,
crush the mechanics of nature’s folly,
the interlude is the entirety of the play.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE ISOTOPES REVENGE

In a systematic nucleic heaving of transparent bundles of ricocheted retro mass, confusion, disordered confluence and stepladder triangular tripartite coerced chaos results in over longitudinal myopia. The measured creature in a jar of thespian soup emulsifies, and tendered sorghum jelly mass larvae constrain the flow of collective retention, a market of archangel’s remonstrances rebounds and circumvents the stalwart climb to ecstasy’s escape, and never adjusts to the polar stride that marks tenuous hours in resuscitated fury. On an axis of decline, the molecules resolve they’re instinctive intrusions into mad gopher holes, appearing as blinds in pockets of admonished deliverance of inspired lemming looters stealing times forgiveness, ready for doubt killing absolve forsaking inclusion to reap the bounty of wayside travelers that skirt the cities of quantized ignominy.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

SAUCE OR TEA LEAVES

Consequential arithmetic equations are sequential substitutions for abstract human errors, in justification of the symptomatic exclusion of a reasoned evaluation of a complex arrangement of logical semi – philosophical exponential concepts that exclude rational examination and interpretation. Does the nonexistence of interpolative rational succeed in the false realization of qualified distinctions of physical boundaries surrounding the minimally transient radicals in an otherwise motion predicated universe? Ought the professor rather to substantiate the quotient as a spherical abstraction or tangential analogy of reference to hypothetical attributes that deny the exponent of quantum physics laws or motives? Sauce or tea leaves.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE HOUR OF ENCHANTMENT

Erstwhile relic of summers folly,
Calamities journey collides with eventide.
The sweet melancholy lake,
The glimmer of hope’s return,
The shadow of your smile,
Hastens the hour of enchantment.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE PERCEPTION OF CONCIOUSNESS

The defragmentation of corporeal non-phased binary inculcations justifying the inertness of superficially palliative geometric constructs of reality creates the perception of consciousness.
– Esinz

—————————————–

BAKED ALASKA

Foshe Kragmeyer resembles the cooked-up version of a pantomime on duck virtues,
the transparent sniveling of eggplant regression,
and the texture of tomato puree (of course, the rice must be precise!).
All for none to dine, for it is a sacred resurgence to the rasp of dissolution,
a coattail resemblance of angst driven ego that propel his curios endeavors.
Solid in stature yet weak in virtue, hell claim the ticket to the rally and forfeit his knowledge for a minute in the ovens of hells receptacle,
be it a cold Sunday or, shall we say, “Baked Alaska”.
“I wish to donate to the cause of the Sangria Fountain, for I find my time is valuable to those little strangers”, yet the dew is not off the blade before it’s a finished fracas.
So now the epitome of rancor invades the room of stilts and effervesces the party’s domain to the crunch time chaos it was meant to be.
Foshe doesn’t need the prayers of the living, nor the dead. Rather,
give him the toast of treason. Sell him the watch of ignoble glory.
Set him on the Hercules Fandango to dance with the Laconia Jubilares.
Rest assured, the journey to guillotine is next!
– Sinz.

—————————————–

DISPARATE REALITIES

Irascible Rasputin, I know thee well! Come see the conflagrations borne of impotent despot’s intent on preserving themselves in the face of the mercurial dance of future histories. Then, perhaps, you will know the beauteous glow of infinite archetypes annihilated by the transfiguration of disparate realities unfolding without care or consideration for any evil or righteous cause or transformational endeavor!
– Esinz.

—————————————–

OL’ DAWG

Ol’ dawg sitting in the sun,
Don’t know what he done,
But it was fun, son.
Reign him in,
He just runs,
Let him go,
Just lays down,
On the ground, son.
Don’t seem too mangy,
Most the time,
Swims in the creek,
And scratches,
While he sleeps,
With one eye open, son.
Can’t catch nothing,
Can’t be caught,
Likely as not though,
Can lose a lot,
Putting in too much thought, son.
Rabbit dawg,
Chasing a squirrel,
Couldn’t catch his tail,
Chomping up the mail,
Yesterday’s news, son
Had to put him down,
Got really old,
Goddam that’s hard,
Don’t tell me dogs don’t cry,
Hear him every night,
Every night, son.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

IMMINENT CAPITULATION

The rising of the co-fixture of imminent capitulation in the face of the Gods of grace and sorrow is the song of decay and justice in a world of bifurcated delusions of heaven and hell. So, sing Goddess of the wrath of quiescent tyranny in the jaws of malevolent dedication to the wrath of the impartial stupefaction of all notions of a saving grace or existential justification.
– Esinz.

—————————————–

THE FALLEN ARCH ANGEL

It would appear unjust,
these trident hemispheres mangled misleading’s,
the crapshoot destiny parlances,
the grim defeatist social framing,
the intricate detailed manipulations of contrived guilt, the hash slinging orator’s tangents that tinge the waters and recreate the fallen archangel’s testimonial wrath. The spirited offerings of haloed virtue regress in empathetic reluctance to battle natures solution to misguided conceptions of world order.
This saturated circumference races to a destiny unknown to all its travelers,
yet the least lead the most in untruths,
in a rock scissors paper rational.
So, I collect my ruminations and spin my compass.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE JESTER’S DRAGONS

The Jester escapes the dagger on this Sunday’s feast, and, although the Kings respite is a callous affair,
of dogs and children with open jaws,
dropped canters and spilt porridge,
the laughter that pervades is superseded by the scowl of trickery and unjust treachery
that bellows and heralds the abominations of those inclined to be saviors,
touting dismay using sovereign sorcery.
The jackal cowers to the lion and the kingdom of noble tyrants systematically confines its stalwarts to take refuge in knowing the fate for those that twist the eye of the hierarchy by disclosing any mirth or triumph.
But the Jester is of dignified eminence.
The restorer of reason, as it is his to amuse,
not to partake.
He sees from inept foreclosure the speck of bird seed scattered on the sill.
The lute, the Fandango, the lilting waft of clicking castanets assuage the entourages true inclinations, shallow pretenses, the intrepid untouchables,
the patrons of mirth, the Jesters Dragons.
– Sinz

—————————————–

STONE COLD KILLER

I’m a Stone Cold Killer,
I’m an angry beast,
A two-time loser,
On a too tight leash,
I run through the jungle and I take my time,
Doing down the devil,
Shakin up the vines.
I’m a Stone Cold Killer,
That’s what I am.
I walk through this world,
On a one-way street,
Nobody knows me,
And the people I meet,
Say I’ve got it coming,
I’ll take it all,
I don’t mess around,
Cause I don’t wanna fall.
I’m a Stone Cold Killer,
That’s what I am.
I heard some people,
Talkin about me,
I went down the alley,
What did they see?
They heard me comin,
And started to run,
Looked back the wind, was howling down.
I’m a Stone Cold Killer,
That’s what I am.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

DISSOLUTION OF THE UNIVERSE

What is the relationship between mass, acceleration, gravity, and love and hate? Perhaps, it is repulsion, or acceleration (hate), and attraction, or mass (love), through gravity waves that are constantly rejecting and accepting each other and creating a tension that is both sustainable, perhaps for billions of years, and then eventually unsustainable, resulting in entropy and the dissolution of the universe.
– Esinz.

—————————————–

CONSCIOUS AMPLIFICATION

The dissolution of contextual verification and blemished remote encounters, a solidification of concepts neither within the realm of justification by logic, nor outside the veiled envelope of conscious amplification of understanding.
– Sinz

—————————————–

PARADOXICAL ISOLATION

The raven has its folly in the mist, the dash of daylight suspends its animation in flight, the reflection is clear to the eye of the fox. But tranquil as it would appear, the dust of time sways reason. Paths have crossed, negotiated by selection. Was the fire drug cold by the shovel, or by the trembling hand of a slayer of rhymes. Challenge the insult that is thrown by angst and fear, the imposter of despair is a shadow to the hidden face in the gloam. Paradoxical isolation shimmers in the recessed canyons of those who chose to see but cannot be seen.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

SYNTAX COLLUSION

Incidental particles of generated subterfuge, that resolve in the substrates of a vehicular teruggite, amassed in polished angst, albeit a bit morpho sized, but rather Columbianesque, in a savory way.

These are the emollients. Poltergeists of sorts, a force, the dragoon clawing theatrics of mad urchins, the train stop whistles vortex, the dew on time shackled agreements. Would I partake of such vulgar rhythms as to be a mime’s coat of arms begging the sanctuary of the south’s abundant premonitory challengers to exemplify an age-old proxy? Quixotic amalgamation of derision forestalls imbittered translations of syntax collusion.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE JESTERS PLEASURE

Choice is overridden by necessity in chaotic times of desperation. But heed the battle drum that pleads no mercy, for the fight is the Jesters pleasure! Peace reigns in defiance of the state of despondent exclusion of trepid mortality, bleeding the moral fiber of transgressions folly. The state of rest is complicated by inertias plight, the dogma of diplomacy is a mask worn indifferent to tears in the subliminally fractured subconscious. The fight is the curse. Win, lose, draw. I slander my Christening, my passing to the true manifesto, that realm I transitioned, formed in an un paradoxical medium, a helix undertow, the restitution for crimes, for notions of heresy to the dragon’s larceny! Peace overshadows the tranquil lake for the respondent’s qualification. But restless refusal to assist the moments bliss terminates the savor, and the raging torrent of inherent retribution spills over the dam of mortal destruction.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

TAILGATE LOGIC

Three or more could well be four,
And rituals even scores,
When taken in by Saturn’s sun,
The minstrel’s songs are left unsung.
Redemption’s underbelly, bloated with the hot air of sold-out chess board soliloquies and under achiever’s hack tones, is fat with Rorschach remedies, abounding in trinkets of solitaire, house of cards rhythmic notation, berated Anglo Saxon pub kings, and slayers of good doers of transgression. Shall I mock the sun? The river’s edge at dawn reminds the social-dilemma order of hypnotists to conjure the truth from eerie screams. I say trade these sly maneuvers for the stipend pennies that mesmerize children in fountains of gold in the limitless undercurrent of revolving serums and antidotes given in lieu of the spectators enmity. I ride to the mark of infamy and scorch the revenant tourniquet of lack luster entwinement with the order of the day, or, so to say, the jousting field etiquette, where kingdoms weep in meadows of locust. The wind is the breath of crimson shadows. It is a dark path I meander through to an unceremonious collision, with seemingly no recourse but to bide the time of laconic mesmerization for want of a shooting star metaphor. The gasp for freedom is no man’s plunder. It is a gift of solitude in variant decrees of saprophytic circumstances. I vent my incessant largess on monkey see – monkey do politics and bring home the bacon with tailgate logic.
– Sinz

—————————————–

EVERYTHING

Some people have everything,
and it is nothing to them.
Some people have nothing, and to them its everything.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE SNAKE

I ate the cake,
And swam the wake,
But the therapy didn’t take.
So now I see the snake,
And swim far out into the lake.
– Esinz.

—————————————–

THE ERSTWHILE STRANGER

If I only lived,
In the bonds of trial,
The crossroad,
The gate unhinged,
Would not I stumble,
Even in evergreen,
The truest among us know,
That which is so clear,
Seems foggy now,
The mist is the lion’s paw,
The velo beneath,
The rust of age,
And the saga of the erstwhile stranger.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE STONED FIDDLE GIRL

I have decided to record the stoned fiddle girl solo so I can listen to it in my trailer while I’m contemplating the salience of Martagons reverse tonal suite in Ebm “The Mayhem”.
– Sinz

—————————————–

FUTURITY

Belay my last.
My last lay, was my last.
The last would not outlast my last.
My last past was my last.
The past would not outlast my last past.
Now my next step is my last.
The last of a series–
A futurity which will not last.
– Esinz.

—————————————–

INNOCUOUS FOREBODING

Substance, reemerging, incalculable recognizance, undeniable in the light of darkness, a soothsayer’s hovel in midtown, beneath the trains, the forest of cinder for the nonchalant encounters that resuscitate my countless near misses with fate. Heal the wounds with quicksilver to my veins. The last is but my first, the shivering of regress annihilates my enemy, the dusk. For there is no vision in sight, only in the pounding, clanging hustle that satiates my conscious nights, and destroys the days innocuous foreboding of desolation in that hour of my dismay.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE EYE EATER

I am the eye eater.
– Esinz.

—————————————–

THE OATH

Is it enough to swear the OATH, the cloak and dagger episodic perplexing of sustained intrusion into matters of life and death, that annex the conditional boundaries of acrimony and beguilement, ingratiating the bearer of good tidings, only to find a foothold in the rocks that indemnify the millenniums complexion, sordid and arcane. I will be the wryly cat that peeks through the embers, scratches through the only tar roof shanty in the grace hovel city of booming skyscrapers, for the trial is erroneous. The true verdict is to the hungry dog, of which the meat is on the bone. The viper of justice will fall only when cast by the relentless storm into the sea of seasons, that which can never assuage the handle of the Servant.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE SAGA OF A STONE-COLD KILLER

The Stone-Cold Killer lay Face down In A Pool of Blood, Down in Mississippi Where The Cotton Grows. He Got Along with Everybody, Everybody Just Dint Get Along with Him. Yea, he was Pissed Off at The World cause All His Broken Dreams Had Come True. The Chicken Eating, Enchilada Lovin Lonesome Cowboy said his Last Goodbye to his job and left Billy Hangin from A Tree in Abilene and Headed Down To Nashville with Jimmybopacocoboppa. She May Not Love Me Forever, But She Loves Me for Now. Yea, She Understands.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

DISJUNCT INTROSPECTION

There is a rift, a chasm, that separates the Socrates interpolators from the wranglers of western idiosyncratic thought. They that insert nobility into singular thoughts, digress in circumspect, rallying to a point of narcissistic benevolence based on the realm keeper’s whim, the research of angular adjustment to regurgitated philosophy of disjunct introspection. In the cabin, the dead man’s hat, that relic of a portentous brew, hangs on the plywood wall, a decorum of anticipated restoration of never being, and yet always the awareness of the shadow over that shallow grave. Say it to the vulture, my friend. Sing it to the crow, that black murderer. Maraud with the owl in the dark forest of evil. Rembrandts remains, stew for thought, a capitulation that ended in furious fire, flashes of eerie templates, skewered tendons, writhing, withering. The door feeds light to a mighty fortress in a an otherwise makeshift manic episode of a ‘ner do well’s sanctuary. The waters stains on the cracking walls are……poetic.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE STORM OF DISSOLUTION

Those that recall the surly beast, inevitably embrace the almost transient delivery of that speech, the one made at the Catskills, just before the militia stormed the tunnel, and the eradication of senses became the name of this new twisted game we are forced to endure, that being the operatic resemblance to the fat lady singing in the crumbling balcony. Rhetoric follows emancipation. How free we were when we were prisoners of our faults and indiscretions. The fallacy is apparent now, and a mistake, or trepidation, can mean the gallows. It is not freedoms choice in matters of mankind’s constant maneuvering through the justification of uninformed hypotheses of judgment, errors of quality-based motives, the trinkets of a social disorder that spell the clocks demise. But rather, it is a whistle in the dream of a child’s lullaby, to awake the demons curse, the night so clear, to bring the dawn of fury, the storm of dissolution.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE SOPWITH CAMEL

The Sopwith Camel, it’s underbelly sunup in the deserted crimson hued field, an abandoned relic of a sturgeon’s flight, annihilated by visions in reckless clouds of thunder amidst the almost delicate horizon, flashes nearly chaotic in jest and folly, remorseless, spinning, diving, whirling magnates, pulling steel wrapped terror eyed wander lusts to tragedies epiphany. The end of sanity’s foreboding, resolution fire drawn on a pallet of angel blue sky, warped destiny, deceptive motives, a sailor’s lofty jargon, bets on silhouette candle flame that poise teetering on insult, rife with poison caulk, tapestry’s silk foyer to hells fervor. Such is the ratification of endowed salvation.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE ARROWHEAD

I found an arrowhead,
In the mud,
On the riverbank,
And I thought about how,
The heavy rains,
Had given the river to rise,
And then,
When it receded,
The washed-up relic settled.
If I had not found it,
Never would it have been,
An experience,
Just an old arrowhead,
Buried in times turmoil,
And my fortune,
Would be less.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE SPEAK EASY GAMBLER
The Gazette sign hangs crooked across the fortified cobblestone requiem, so neatly tucked away in the sawdust covered attic, awakened by a marlock trespassing in thought. What would I do for resiliency if I did not take hold of sandcastles that crumble, insolvent, lacking viscosity, breaking, chipping away at the rich turmoil created in isolated havoc? So miniscule is the portent, so calm, yet bursting. A bridge that gaps the quandary in velo blue, I hasten to find the trifle, the coat that hangs on a footprint. The riches of mayhem are not the wealth of my boundless intrigue. Is it my encroach in this musty haven that leads me to hear and touch and recapitulate again? A nova of fire restores my tranquility. The remembered is forgotten, to be exiled to times dust, a mere pause in my static whirl of consciousness. That I am is not the query. That I was is not of consequence. The tale of the juniper tree in the shadow of the ant hill sums up my pretentious irony of introspection. I am the charity, the resilient metaphor. I am the Speak Easy Gambler.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE SWORD OF CAESAR

I personally do not mind, or care,
If a triangle is round or square.
There will be no justice in this land,
That will bar me from my predict non-versa.
Nor will the prophets gaze any less intrepid,
at the stars in the hemisphere.
I find I have lost my vertigo reproach,
when identifying a silver tongue,
for the sweet talk amuses, and diffuses, me.
I am rather nonchalant, respective in all, but terrific ratification is slow.
I will chase that dog’s tail,
down the rabbit hole,
and lounge
in the shoe lady’s den.
It is not of consequence, this hologram of smoke.
For diligence is the timekeeper’s weapon of choice.
The sword of Caesar.
The arbitrator of anathema.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE SAYERS OF CITIES

To whom do I owe the pleasure? The scarlet sky that bounces a dreamy surface beam across eons of somnambulant nectar cups of solar dust, exploding to form shadows that mesmerize, like rhymes in sand, transparent as fields in languid corners of never seen footpaths, meandering halos of fallen dragons?
Does the Moss Owl swoop to the trellises along the ruins of Socratic cities?
Is this the measure of servitude, in an otherwise cephid tank of surfacing fish?
Read the stars, and scallop the light, to immerse to the gory bottom of salinity, under the waves.

It is not perplexing, the arrogance of men that know of petals on paradoxical rhymes. The thoughts are ingratiating to the last. A sill of reluctance to encroaching persecutions, enlightening the Sayers of Cities under the sea. The pleasure is not mine nor theirs. The debt is to the bargain bestowed for an
unknown price.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

CAVEMAN JARGON

Gruuhh faa serhh ta aaruhh ieyahh wahh sahh eyahh tooahh gratahh – yaahhhh!
– Esinz (caveman)

—————————————–

THE PARADIGM OF PERGATORY

Estuary, I ask you. “Why does only the corsair fly in even air, a cavalier, an expedient that rails in circumspect, aloof, neath the hollow sky”? I recall the sip of ray that burst through that meadows loft, incarcerated in dews drift on a blood horizon. I could sift through the tangent trails, but I pursue no angularity now. I am immortal but doomed. Un stable the horse! That brilliant sun isn’t given to shallow dirt. It burns to run, to kick and frolic. Give a dose of poison to that wayfarer that he might intercept some treacherous mayhem that may befall the crooked nook, and let it spill its volowed nectar into that flat river, so quiet, the heartbeat of a dozen denizen’s demise. I favor instead the currents wrath. I sink to the narrow valley and vanish to the fantom ridges of equinoxes and paradoxes to relinquish the Scepter, the ax that cuts the dragoon from its moor, half sunken, fortunes relic, what is left of a fantasy. What is now the remnant of the Paradigm of Purgatory.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE BITTER TRUTH

The sweetness of the moment is curtailed by the bitter truth. For some are saved from wretched storms, while multitudes perish. Vigilance and armor fall to the side, as fate leads the battle weary to destiny.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

HOT LEGS PAULIE

Cooked up a kettle a beans,
Peeled me an onion,
Fried some collard greens.
Got my 45 sittin on the table,
Man, I’m mean,
I’m a lean machine.
Been two years,
And I’m still around,
All my neighbors,
Are in the ground.
But I found,
I kinda like the sound,
Of what’s goin down.
I’m Hot Legs Paulie,
And I know my stuff,
Aint nothin left,
But I got enough,
Lord if it aint dead,
I’ll kill it.
No particular reason,
Just a matter of fact.
Somebody pushed a button,
And that was that.
Now I’m free,
To do what I do best.
Used to be a grocery,
Now that’s circumspect.
All there is makeshift,
But I’m real good at that.
Like a heart attack.
Tasty legs for supper,
Fry um in the fat,
Have mercy keep from cryin,
Keep from dyin,
Aint comin back,
No, Hot Legs Paulie,
Aint comin back.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

CONVIVIAL RETICENCE

Reluctant to adhere to the seemingly void preconceptions of solvency over emancipation,
the freedom caliper sustains the import of reconciliation to the ravenous vitriol of sociometamorphosis,
relaying so called autonomic denunciations of character over pin head fibers trickling negotiations
and superfluous inflections of theoretical annihilations of conceptual fortitude. Thus, dear Tremont,
guard the terrace with convivial reticence, for you too could bear the apple orchards deadly fruit,
before the worm turns, and the simple act of vengeance matriculates to overcome even the pasty tar
devil’s appetite, before the grander wedding of man and the fire storm of Armageddon casts aside the brides
veil to reveal the face of Mephistopheles.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

SILVER CHALICES

Of men, held to trust in ancient rhymes on silver chalices, beheld of contempt,
forsaking emersion in sacrament, few knew truth, and fewer sought it.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SOONER OR LATER

Everything takes time. But, sooner or later, time takes everything.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE MERCURY

The Mercury, that vestibule of recrimination, now mauls my brain at night, formulating
tinctures of bayou hue and frothing moss sinews. The light from a cigarette flickering
in the windshield, the quiet trespass through immersion in times capitulation, on a black
Louisiana backroad, the shadows of evil surge by, a relentless domicile of quandary for this ingots query. It is aghast, swirling trees and posts, a house of cards, folding, crushed, simple taps on the door of mayhem, the zero hour of infamy, treacherous, magnanimous, lofty syrup pine synergy, a passage into a soliloquy of cicadas and night birds.

I took this journey, as though some ancient gargoyles reproach commanded me, aloft in dusks escarpment. The haze of time reflects the breath of the noble cause of a loquacious voyage to which the end is the beginning. The smoke-filled Mercury fulfills its pledge.

The actor is notorious from the moments angle, the widow cracks open to a breath of canyon zest,
the orbit of symmetry is skewed though, and now I remind the traitor. Fear not the evening cold.

The morning finds the Mercury, and the matters of yesterday become transient oxymorons, languid engines of entropic empathy.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE SERPANT AND THE SAINT

What is better to me is rather wistful to many.
The sort of things I encounter are nonchalant in favor to right minded Camelot patriots,
my tinge of sordid swagger, remittent in stature, recoils as a revolver fired in a trembling hand.

Take the fruit of labor, the day’s pay, the basket of jelly jars received in holiday spirit,
and set the table wine flowing amidst the cheers of recompense.
I am not but one and know of nothing. Right or wrong, I bend and flow. I fit no chalice.
I wear no evil. Yet I swear to the ghost of Satan and pray to the God of peace.
So, find me now in the dreary eyes of lonely beggars. The thoughts of many are mine.

Judge me.

I am crooked as they, yet noble in some way for being known as a footpath to the dust hills.

Where to then King? All the soldiers follow the same enemy. The same course is mine.
The better is not but a choice. I choose, and I call the serpent, or the saint, to the castle.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

THE KING

Enter the King! Reprobate. Ensconced in falter synergy regale. Content to ratify the
law of secondi national, the leader of farce, opulent, staring through liquid jest,
near trivial rivers that flow naked in harsh summer waves of languid heat.
The son of none, the brother of all. Is it convivial despotic reluctance that maneuvers
the feat of reprehension in corridors of stone? Not the whisp of broom clears
the archaic dust, nor incense alone in vapors waif. The King despairs the entrance of
dark ships into the shallow harbor, fears the octangular noose that awaits the guilty,
yet sleeps content in servitude to injustice. Hail not the flag of fortune.
Rejoice my erstwhile gravity. Thread the needle with gold, yet the coat is burlap.
A beggar cannot steal the penny of some, and buy the dignity of all,
to starve a nation with the bread of gluttony.
– Sinz.

—————————————–

RIGHTEOUSNESS

The pending sacrament proclaimed upon the earth by the hearty hymns of ages gone by is transfigured for eternity by the bombastic grunts of cavemen into the hopeless dissolution of meaningless rants uttered in the name of righteousness.
– Esinz

—————————————–

LACONIC AND SWARTHY

Excel in repair of dissonance.
Prepare for the storms
incessant crushing howl.
Revolt in abolition of faith.
To the wolves go the hungry, desperate to die in revolt, unshackled now, laconic and swarthy, the decadent and worldly, the sword of nefarious wrath.
– Sinz

—————————————–

WHO IS TO KILL?

Norman Clature read the Times piece on Allred Boyd’s murder for hire scheme. He was running outa his garage right under the nose of the Police Dept one block over! His wife shot Red Sanger in the face right outside by that big pecan tree. Is everyone mad? Can’t hear a shotgun bast 20 yards away? And he slit the guy’s throat too. But the quandary is obnoxious. Who is to kill?
– Sinz

—————————————–

LIFE

Life: an endless oscillation between the nickelodeon of shallow conquest and the
choking-of-fat-sorrow upon the material world satiated by its own manifested abundant vapidity.
– Sinz

—————————————–

ABJECT ABROGATION

An asylum arising after abhorrent hours spent among the eyeless thieves allowing for
undone abject abrogation.
An alarming actus…awakening the aura –
an assurance of asymmetrically
assigned abandonment.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE SANGUINARIA

Such shivers still silently seeping into the sanguinaria, slowing sinking further.
A seamless seance stretching beyond the sarcophagus of solitude!
– Sinz

—————————————–

HISTORIC PROVIDENCE

Far be it for me to pretend to connect the preverbal dots of ancient anachronistic parlance’s, sure fire analogies that predicate the readers enhancement on biker’s rally jargon, set forth by the eye piece continuum ergo cosmetically rich but mean in temperament social order.

Satiated by the lust of Tom Dooley’s overture, a peculiarly obvious repartee of second-guessing Satan’s dictates, is a tempting apple for man of prehistoric providence.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE FLIGHT OF A HUMMINGBIRD

If you can see the kind words of hopeful aspiration in the flight of a hummingbird, then you will know the beauty of your soul.
– Esinz

—————————————–

CAPRICORN DOGMA

The halls beckon my bloody feet to enthrone my justifications on rabid Parthenon soldiers, those merciless dissevers of critic slandering nebulites, that troll in whispers mist afoul of cadences and comrades reluctant to derail the Capricorn dogmas that the dredge of reason cannot tear from the silt and rock of Empirical demise. I will bear the quest. I will share the doubt. And I will witness the rise of citadels of enterprise, and the collapse of socio sanctified entitlement.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SIMPLICITY

The greatest possession is the appreciation of simplicity.
– Esinz

—————————————–

HOPE AND JUSTICE

But, as the fall from grace takes its course, so does the opportunity for sublime recompense actuate in the tortured souls of heroes struggling to reach the realms of hope and justice.
– Esinz

—————————————–

SARTRE’S GHOST

Not alive, nor dead, nor both,
I shun the light,
of Sartre’s ghost.
Fate is just
an odd repose,
that beckons me,
to sanguine hopes.
The recompense is shallow though,
as the pendulum
swings back and forth.
The seconds pass,
with no remorse,
and the fall from grace,
takes its course.
– Sinz

—————————————–

IN EXACT MEASURE

In exact measure…
I relate the stark horror, the disingenuous revolutionary misleading’s of truculent visionaries, that times perdition, coiled in venoms languishing infidelity, derails.

In exact measure…
I fear the fortunes of a noble cause, that of which I live to conceive as destiny’s fomenting epiphany, the rug pulled out from under jargonistic halo of incrimination for mankind’s faults, that looms in my discontented soul, the cherish of ageless child’s play, the beckoned disguise of rhapsodic monotony.

In exact measure…
I lament the insurrection of my envy’s guilty plea, and face the gallows frayed rope, the synergy of optimistic minimalism, the mask of opined reflections.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE TRANSLATION OF EVIL

The mediatic ruminations of a sorcerer do not compel us to bend our will or beg for mercy. Rather, they should embolden our transgressions to permutate toward the eventual translation of evil into harmony.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE FORBIDDEN

A slice of nirvana, episodic in remorse for the untold emboldened quiz kid lounger, that one hair troglodyte’s cousin, save my soul, that ruminates in the afterglow of dawns residence into the shadowless, unforgiving halo of night. I’ll be the razors whisk to the throat, that second of mercy before the fall of Caesar’s quasar implosion, the epitaph of a tyrant’s vacant gaze, as the dust of vengeance settles on the face of treachery, the earthen mask of hearsay evidence that defines the masses grievance. To the truth, lead on merry seeker. I am unamiable. I am rich in poisons hemlock, endowed with sure fire remedies, the least of which underscore a deliberation, a tractional fortitude that breaks the backs of servile food gatherers, for I am lost… The Forbidden.
– Sinz

—————————————–

BLOOD ON THE SNOW

To tackle a circumspect job, a person of valor or worth to the community, say an elder statesman sort with a butchered past, dealing in sacred oils and strip mall demolitions, the last little sandwich off the silver plate at the wake eater, a taciturn, maneuvered, polished and kingly man, will, invariably, recurve the manifest ride time to circumvent the inevitable rancor for his gallant stride in destiny’s wake. A mere nod defines
his panorama.

But justice is poetic. It travels the little-known roads of tortures hypnotic sideshow. There is comfort in the chalice of red wine spilled for the ages, and the soul house feeds on aspiration and rebukes inspiration. But, it is the blood on the snow that marks the path of the soulless beggars contemptuous foray into the diametric canyon of hearsay platitudes and angular dispositions, only to find the escarpment too steep to even contemplate escape.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE LOGIC OF MATERIALISM

As for Aristotle, he seems to have been so enamored of the logic of his materialism that he could not look objectively beyond the superficialities of the world around him.
– Esinz

—————————————–

HOPE AND COURAGE

Evening sunsets of despair and melancholy should transcend into morning sunrises of hope and courage.
– Esinz

—————————————–

FREE FOREVER

Live on nothing and you will be free forever!
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE JARGON OF DISSOLUTION

What is the rhapsody that is found in the jargon of dissolution? Perhaps it is in the silence of gracious indignation.
– Esinz

—————————————–

RUBICONE’S NECKTIE

Fall my citizens!
Of the raptor’s incisors,
and deadly claws,
there is recourse in small intransigent doses! The locks iron doors, the levees unsworn banks, tell the lies of commensurate underdogs fortunes. The hierarchy of Triphoy, and Sophia’s lauded hyperbolic dissuasion of insouciant myths and admonishments to the faithless sub heroic dalliances of deluded argonauts dissuades my colleague’s vigor to fight. Yet I pursue the vulgar dismays of treachery with fortitude! To die the dog, to wretch the gut of iconoclastic rhetoric and infused lackluster syllogisms begs of me to align my perditions with the brass of Rubicon’s necktie.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE CHAMPIONS ORACLE

The embrace of the ages well-worn echo jargon is so tantalizing to the philosophy charged emulator of tactile reclassification, in syrupy dogma albeit, that I would care to think of less immediate triumphs of embryonic volleys with evidentiary statistical chess board dalliances concerning the chicken before the egg discourse, roundabout midnight, Aristotelian formal logic mantra, and rather, turn my enigmatic inertia toward the conquest of inverse insight i.e. Is God of Man, or Is Man of God? The answer to which parleys the inscription:
“Validation is manipulation for heresy,
spoken disunity is justification for despotic resolve,
and the defeated is the Champions Oracle”.
– Sinz

—————————————–

OF POPEYE AND SARTRE

Smartian Hempel tried and true,
Purveyor of honey wax,
to the county zoo,
Despondently accepts the bitter fruit,
Of Popeye and Sartre’ quotes Alley Oop:
“I am, therefor not, and that’s the truth”.
– Sinz

—————————————–

VAPIDITY

Is the insurrection of a soulless campaign to demonize the failings of those who struggle to survive merely a hyperbole of disoriented hate or rather the vapidity of unrequited desperation in the face of insatiable hopelessness? Perhaps it is both and more.
– Esinz

—————————————–

UNSUNG MARTYRS

A subservient disposition is the essential benign character of both unsung martyrs and great kings.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TRUTH

Truth is an illusion. However, its reality may be partially perceived from afar. – Esinz

—————————————–

FREEDOM
Freedom does not absolve us from responsibility; therefore, freedom must always be limited by our humanity.
– Esinz

—————————————–

HUMILITY AND GRACE

Stand by your strongest wishes and hopes into eternity and you may see them prevail. But stand by righteousness with humility and grace and you will transcend all wishes and hopes and be at peace and harmony with the universe forever!
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE SEA GATE

At the sea gate of oblivion lies the transformation of all absurdities and realities into both meaning and nothingness.
– Esinz

—————————————–

MULTIPLE UNIVERSES

The rectilinear trajectory of the space/time continuum is an artifice of human perceptions of reality. Even the warping nature of gravity is misperceived as a constant representation of actuality when infinite variations are considered in the tactile discernment of multiple universes. See what is not there, rather than what is there.
– Esinz

—————————————–

WISDOM

Does the imbroglio of a destiny confused by self-doubt result in the nullification of a sop orectic disposition? No, it is the beginning of wisdom.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE RAIN ON FALLEN LEAVES

Near the Enclaves of Saffron,
erudite matriculations abrogate solemn vows of conscious attrition.
The Socratic bullwhip of times reluctant curators is a staunch resonator,
in the context of insouciant philosophical philandering……it is the rain on fallen leaves.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SATIRICAL SACRIFICE

Demiurgic transitions to the normalcy of rain on fallen leaves is a satirical sacrifice of unbounded emulations of totalitarian disintegrations.
– Esinz

—————————————–

ANNIHILATION

The resonance of good and evil plays in the harmony of universal desires for justice, acclaim, and annihilation.
– Esinz

—————————————–

ANARCHY AND RHAPSODY

Inimitable preamble!
Rebuke my sub sequential histrionics!
My foray into the tundra has usurped the empire’s reigns.
The wrench of totalitarian tribunal onslaught is remorseful in the exact nature of a penny candy quartet.
Listen to the surmised proletariat linguist!
Per requiem that which falls doth stand in realms of cities charred.
Both anarchy and rhapsody prevail!
– Sinz

—————————————–

FUNGI ON A ROCK

Enter the world of fungi on a rock in a stream staring at
the translucent sky and you will see the justification
of a life of hope and not despair.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE THESPIAN

Is it wonder, or the ages past declarations, that motivates men,
torn from tyrant’s veins, to search the histrionic shuffleboard,
intent on the suppositional caveat that all is erudite when cast
shadow like in bronze or painted on canvas to overhang the mantle.
Thespian, throw me a line. Ask me how, in savior fair, in relic
strewn denial of systemic lime tiara, tilt a wheel,
time share divested emboli, does the pen pull blood from the page?
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE ULTIMATE SOUND

Can the sound of silence be a sound? Yes, it is the ultimate sound that defines the universe.

Hear it and you will hear everything.
– Esinz

—————————————–

EITHER WAY

Hurl your voice into the void of meaningless meanderings and you will eventually
find only the despair of self-contempt. Go beyond words to actions
and you may experience the grace and joy of a bird in flight or the utter
denouement of humiliating failure – either way, you will have lived.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE TASK

Enlighten my trivial meanderings kind sir.
To be involved, one must have a task.
– Sinz

—————————————–

AWARENESS

Is your humility a portrayal of impotence or is it the result of an
awareness of the grandeur of the universe? Be humble for the latter reason.
– Esinz

—————————————–

SWARTHY PERSPECTIVE

Stand by the swarthy perspective and enter world of sole opsin mutations.
Be swarthy at your peril but enjoy it if you will.
– Esinz

—————————————–

FAVOR

Favor the blustering wind with a smile and you will live in harmony forever.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TASTY LEFTOVERS

Leftovers are tasty – especially when they have a little mold on them.
Would Confucius have ever said that?
– Esinz

—————————————–

BITTERSWEET TRIUMPH

The denizen of repression exiles the opposition of recriminations.
Take to the ramparts! To forestall the exigency is a bittersweet triumph.
– Sinz

—————————————–

HARMONY

Be an Angel of mercy in your coldest and most agonizing dreams
of death and destruction and you will live forever in harmony and peace.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE LEFTOVERS

I am instant. I believe simultaneously in trajectory equitization
and lower Broadway foo farm hypnosis. Wrap up the leftovers.
– Sinz

—————————————–

UNSPOKEN DREAMS

Fear not the calamitous destruction of your unspoken dreams,
for they will live forever in your heart and soul!
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE VENTURE GAME

Pug Flookan and his disoriented mafia wannabe gang of nerd peels owe
their slippery agenda to earful of wax alliance with a venture
game show host named Ricardo Lewis.
He’s the guy that
stole all those S and H green stamps in the 1960’s.
He’s the Three Ventures bong hut auto book binder dude.
Now, I could recompense my intangible retorts on philosophical
germination by simply opening the curtain to these fine gentlemen.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SEDATED FEAR

Sergum Sasquales examines his triangular toboggan triathlon episodes from 1946.
A face down hold up at a record shop across the
street leaves him heavily sedated with fear of impending doom.
Prae oculis euentura.
– Sinz

—————————————–

INFINITY

Stand on the stage of emptiness
and you will breathe the soul of infinity.
– Esinz

—————————————–

ETERNITY

Beetleneesomesquees is a forgotten character of a
forgotten language of a forgotten people.
If you want to know him, then forget who you are and succumb to eternity.
– Esinz

—————————————–

BROKEN PERSPECTIVE

Through slither and slander,
Through alabaster grandeur,
On swarthy invective,
The requisite bystander,
Leans to pick up the broken perspective –
And stumbles once again.
– Sinz

—————————————–

MEANING AND REVELATIONS

Situations of uncertainty are fraught with dissolution and despair.
Yet we must remain faithful to the infinite possibilities of
redemption and the experience of new vistas of beauty and the
conception of new worlds of meaning and revelation.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE ALBATROSS

See the swirling sea and look beyond the albatross
flying above your fears of dissolution and desperation.
– Esinz

—————————————–

UNCERTAINTY

Situations of uncertainty are fraught with dissolution and despair.
Yet we must remain faithful to the infinite possibilities
of redemption and the experience of new vistas of beauty
and the conception of new worlds of meaning and revelation.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE STARGAZER

I claim the astronaut’s bucket, that sphere of despotic anarchy,
whirly twirly chime in early, to the moon Alice,
iridescent Sopwith Camel ornament that sears the
stars sequestered ignominy and translucent morphia,
an amalgamation of triangulated Morse Code trickle down theories of
ceremonious pre tertiary advances in ipso facto kinematics.
The utopian dream of sugar topped mountains plagues my nervous ingest of protocol.
Who be it, that it may be? I revel in the nonsense of knowledge.
I am the arbitrator of egalitarian chimeric.
I am the Stargazer.
– Sinz

—————————————–

WANDERING WARRIOR

A menagerie of thoughts come through the mind of the wandering warrior,
but the greatest of these is the question of right and wrong.
– Esinz

—————————————–

CALL YOUR ENGINES MIGHTY

Past the thicket by the old fence,
down by the old rusted out Plymouth,
I stopped to take stock in my trifling’s
with the ways of this world.
I sat against an old tree and wondered why,
and a whisper brought me this reply:
You are not the beacon on a ship.
You are not the mast, nor the compass.
The mighty sea you cannot tame,
Nor the sands of shorelines, nor the tall
grass that wisps in the sun.
Take heed though, and call your engines mighty,
for you are the strength of the mountain,
and you have lived in dreams forever.
– Sinz

—————————————–

INSOUCIANT SHRUG

The gratification of an insouciant shrug is a parlance of the measured ineptitude of a condescending Neanderthal.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE LEADER

If I were to follow the auspices of a leader,
then I would simply be a parchment of words and dictates.
I own no grass nor earthen promises. A brook is what I am.
The vast seas give over to the construes of majestic accomplishments
of sailors gone down with their ships.
I have no such glory to pretext. I inherit the forests gloom and the mountains vainglory.
I meander in no precluded direction. No insurrection plans my course.
I am not of the spirit, nor of the flesh. I answer to no architecture,
no heads of state, no vengeance is in my calling.
I obscure my defiance with the cackle and click of the denizens of the dark.
The light of the valorous shines on the few infiltrators of my entity.
Know me, as the bird knows it’s song.
– Sinz

—————————————–

PATRONS OF VIRTUE

Wind fills the sails of ships and destroys.
the lives of struggling patrons of virtue.
So, both embrace the service of the wind and accept
it’s potential for destruction.
– Esinz

—————————————–

VICTORY

All the gold and riches sweet,
Will end up at my feet,
My sorrow, and defeat,
Will bring the victory, that I do not seek.
The mercenary lies in wait,
But I will not hesitate.
The fallen lift the contraband,
And shift the timeless desert sands.
What is not seen,
Is my envoy to peace.
Dissolution is the prophet’s armor!
– Sinz

—————————————–

DAY OF STORMS

Save your wisdom for a sunny day,
for on a day of storms it will be destroyed.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TROUBLED

It is my intention to be troubled.
Nonchalant martyrdom is my latitude in the sea breeze
of synergistic kelp that foray the oceans heavens.
– Sinz

—————————————–

GLORY AND TRUTH

Wish for glory and you will find emptiness.
Wish for truth and you will find purity and hope.
– Esinz

—————————————–

ANONYMOUS COMPASSION

Stochastic metaphors silence the unbridled definitions of supercilious recognitions of good and evil.
Breathe and exhale in anonymous compassion,
and you will feel the freedom of a benevolent universe.
– Esinz

—————————————–

SONNET BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEAR

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled woe,
And moan the’ expense of many a vanished sight;
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er.
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I knew pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
– Shakespeare

—————————————–

THE EYE OF THE PERCIEVER

Are two eyes better than one? Is the perception of reality in the eyes,
or eye of the perceiver?
Yes, more eyes are better in attempting to perceive reality,
but no one will ever see it.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE DOGS OF MERCURY

Disparage the rafters, those sideboard clapping,
anglified rectors of this enviable castle,
the still uninhabited asylum of imposition
that denies the topographic warden of his dirt and rock
investment in reprobate assuaged cloak and dagger tom foolery.
Bass for the fisherman on the rainstorm sea!
Do I swirl in depth charged epitaphs of forlorn lovers?
Nay! Debunked of steel ribbons I challenge the dogs of mercury
to witness this crumbling edifice,
that I have built to destroy.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SECONDARY VISIONS

Move beyond the secondary visions of right and wrong.
and be enveloped by not knowing the true wonder of the universe.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE SWAN

Say to the swan, “What is the glory of your beauty?”
And it will say “I am a swan and I swim in a lake.”
– Esinz

—————————————–

DESPERATION
Stand on the stations of nobility and from afar you will see the ignominy and desperation of defeat.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE WHEELWORK OF OUR INSECURITIES

Tribulations over justice and injustice are the wheelwork of our insecurities.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE UNKNOWN

I do not know how to find the door to heaven,
but I do know how to find the door to hell. Always choose the unknown!
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE ERROR OF YOUR WAYS

Can you see the flight of a sparrow fleeing from a hawk?
If you can, then perhaps you can see the error of your ways.
– Esinz

—————————————–

SOLACE

Does the ocean cry for solace? No, it cries for beauty.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE WOLF

Does the wolf cry to the earth in peril of night?
Or to the heavens, the moon of bright?
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE MOON SEES ALL

The moon sees all, but we only see it. I would rather see it than see all.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TO BE OR NOT TO BE

To be or not to be, that is the question.
– Shakespeare

TO SEE O NOT TO SEE

To see or not to see, to cry or not, to find and choose or not to,
those are the questions of Sinz and Esinz

—————————————–

SUPERCILIOUS RECOGNITIONS

Stochastic metaphors silence the unbridled definitions of supercilious recognitions of good and evil. Breathe and exhale in anonymous compassion.
and you will feel the freedom of a benevolent universe.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE STAND

Stand for one, and you will stand for many.
– Esinz

—————————————–

CIRCUMSPECT SOLILOQUY

Circumspect soliloquy,
Does the meaning have to be?
I lay my head to the ground and dream,
Of oceans turned to blood red seas.
With blissful skies, my enemies,
Will scatter to the forest trees.
– Sinz

—————————————–

A FRIEND OF JESUS

We are all both God and Satan, insofar as we make moral decisions about good and evil.
Jesus showed us the way to be more like God. Although I am an agnostic,
I am a friend of Jesus. Happy Easter!
– Esinz

—————————————–

SAINTS AND SINNERS

A seismic confluence, of disreputable con-flagrance,
construes considerably more incredulous disparity between, say,
those who have been to the well of sanctimonious regurgitation,
and the pantomime inmates of a world that maintains
an obsession with the blood of saints and sinners.
– Sinz

—————————————–

FAITH AND REALITY

We live in a world of idiots, but do not be caught up in their ignorance.
Instead, look for ways to manage their stupidity to achieve a congruence.
between faith and reality.
– Esinz

—————————————–

SWORD AND SCRIBE

Are we the rectifiers of uncertainty? Am I the bread of dusk?
I am the dawns interpolation of the after burn of the ancient subculture of Sword and Scribe.
– Sinz

—————————————–

A WINDLESS DAY

A sail on a ship is like the destiny of life – moving the ship forward,
but occasionally causing it to crash in a storm on the shoals of a beautiful bay,
or to linger in the depression of a windless day.
– Esinz

—————————————–

DREAMERS

I would rather see people working,
than dreaming.
And I would rather see people dreaming, than killing.
And I would rather take my struggles as I find them,
than to give up the fight,
because I just did not have the heart,
to do what I thought was right.
And I would rather see the forest for the trees.
And I’d rather open my ears,
to hear your pleas.
And I would rather reconcile with all my enemies.
Than to give up the fight,
because I just did not have the heart,
to do what I thought was right.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE ROACH GARDEN

When I see a roach struggling on its back in my house,
I pick it up and place it in my garden. What do you do?
– Esinz

—————————————–

OBLIVIONS EMPIRE

Hiding out,
within that incited circle of haze,
of bitter truths,
I cannot erase.
The burgeoning bewilderment,
the egalitarian equinox of ramble jack jargon,
the apex of the aperture of
excuse ridden manifestos,
the all-in-one ratchet slingers clawing at my spokes.
Rain in a pothole or lake is of the same.
The innocent are guilty. All bear the shame.
And I wander, to search in vain,
For the Equinox of Oblivions Empire
– Sinz

—————————————–

JUSTIFICATION AND HARMONY

Ephemeral reticence’s in the embattled attempts at justification and harmony
are personifications of true righteousness and the honest perception of good and evil.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE CLOAK AND DAGGER POET

Here to for, my country and my sword shall quell the headless bodies of the hypnotic,
shallow, eschewers of the empire of jurisprudential larceny. Un apprehended,
they fall unseen into the chasm of ill-gotten idolatry. Worship the flame! Dare I say!
Relinquish the hook of recursion and salutation. Despots all! Regale in fury’s insatiable appetite!

The feast of the caretaker is the porridge of the overseer. I take no part in the grandeur of milk toast, mealy mouth sermons of the unrestrained interlopers. To them I rain my condolences. The failure to exact is the fear to act. I am not the coward that hides in wait.

I am the cloak and dagger poet. Where does the pen meet the blood?
– Sinz

—————————————–

WHERE THE INK MEETS THE BLOOD

The mighty quill, with angular obsession, recourse taken in battle scarred euphoria,
the schism between mechanics and emotion, the flight of envy, the diplomat’s sword.
I say to speak, an ease of wit parleys my intent. The message vanishes to the void of times dungeon.

But of parchment and pen, I cannot withdraw, the die is cast, the words are just,
the thoughts are indelible. The ink meets the blood,
and spills the burden of enlightenment.
– Sinz

—————————————–

ARROGANCE TO HUMILITY

Suffering is our salvation, helping us walk the road from arrogance to humility.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TWO BROTHERS

Cryptic knowledge, that system clangor irony of futile awareness, without tangible proof, that supplants the over ridden testimony of millenniums of sages, profits and poets, that have inundated the philosophical waters with interpretations of intentions,
unconcealed by nonchalant citizens, pervading this osmotic rock we cling to,
is entropic desperate protonema. Far be it for our simple gestures of hieroglyphic.
transpositions to equate more than a communication between the brothers Sinz and Esinz that supersedes the established rule of conjecture. To follow the auspices of Rumi, our benefactor in this pursuit, persuades the actions of a discussion that is transparent, oblique, and perfunctory. The Brothers of Mayhem unite in stealth awareness of a rational fact that we are limited by our knowledge beyond good and evil. Let the mighty sword of the demigod of frivolity pierce our tongues with Solomon’s secrets. Ingest the syrup of introversions subsonic death crawl, see to the quick disposal of all evidence that relinquishes the burden of diplomacy, and relish in the act of encountering the enemy in its state of ambiguity. We aim for no objective clarity.
We do not care to affect change. Rather, we evoke the weary trigger.
of optimism to guide our conversations that we may whisper in the ear of justice.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE ESTUARY OF INSOLENCE

In the estuary of insolence can be found the covetous nature of our reptilian ancestry but let us not be disparaging of others. Instead, let us be humble in dwelling within the grace of life given to all creatures, great and small.
– Esinz

—————————————–

INFINITE DIMENSIONS

In each dimension there are infinite dimensions.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE SEA

The sea is our friend and our enemy, and so is the world. Therefore, give peace and respect to the sea and the world, but be prepared when they nonchalantly rush upon you to destroy you.
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE TRUTH

Do you know the truth? If so, then you know nothing.
– Esinz

—————————————–

EARTHLY PERCEPTIONS

Swim to the shore of the river of earthly perceptions, then stand alone and stare at the stars, and see the meaning of impassionate beauty and truth.
– Esinz

—————————————–

TRANSFIXED IN FATE

Intrepid lawyer, make your case!
I am the vagabond of silk tie silhouette servitude. Renounce me! The tabletop tennis player paid for the empty balcony room and jumped to his death. I simply checked out at the office. There is a way to go about living. The Prophet’s Son is in glorious form when I am transfixed in fate.
– Sinz

—————————————–

RIPTIDE BLUES

Cinnamon cupcakes,
Mustard hotdogs, Caramel apples,
Riptide blues.
Good news,
Bad news,
Two left shoes.
Riptide Blues.
Guessing at the whims of time,
Blowing through the Cracker Jack box for the prize.
Riptide Blues.
So, I say, to the
Golden Girl,
Living on the street,
Walk into the rain,
Taste the sweet pain,
Riptide Blues.
Am I forever?
Am I lost?
Find me,
And lose me.
I will be the trespasser, in your castle of fear.
Riptide Blues.
– Sinz

—————————————–

DA CAPO

Sumerian visions of galaxies colliding unravel the beauty of our uncertain fates. Live in the day, not the week, or the month, or the year, or even in infinite time horizons. Live for each moment, especially in your worst nightmares, and say: “Da Capo!”
– Esinz

—————————————–

PERCIEVED INTERVENTION

Perceived intervention circumvents the mechanization of my thought process by intersecting the projected trajectory of any concept I might induce my mind to accept as fact.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE QUEST

But, alas, ‘tis but the fluttering of a butterfly, these musings. The granite has its beginnings in the millennium’s past, as does my quest.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE NOMAD

Erase the system!
Embrace collusion!
Words are of little justice to the incriminators.
I stand in the meadows bliss.
I angle my ships course to lands of innocence.
I dwell in the sands of cosmic shadows.
I entice my singularity with insurrection.
I am the Nomad.
The unseen.
The vindicator of the buried,
the interpreter of beauty’s crime,
the surreptitious stranger that beckons fear to my neighbor’s door.
I invite the chaos to my feast,
to trample its fate.
Ask me, I will not speak. Tell me, I will not listen.
Cut me, and my blood will flood the earth.
– Sinz

—————————————–

ALONE

I am totally alone, but I love the beauty of a daisy in the spring blowing gently around in the anticipation of hot summer breezes.
– Esinz

—————————————–

INFINITE ETERNITIES

I see the realms of infinite eternities. Their only communality is the duality of their existence/non-existence. Embrace the meaning of duality and you will see the evanescence of compassionate understanding and truth. Oneness then becomes our soul’s search for righteousness and the persistent desire for good over evil and our never-ending hope for immortality.
– Esinz

—————————————–

NOCTURNS REMEDY

I set my journey to be,
And laughed off merrily,
Into the mist of the fires halo,
Into the nocturnes remedy,
Into the fist of the fortune tellers,
The back pockets of the Sooth Sayers,
The ricochet ramblings of hatch mouth underlings.
That is the reality of mortality.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE HERITICS BIBLE

The Heretics Bible lays open on the little wooden desk in my slant roof shack.
The circumvention of a man’s intentions by other than worldly means requires a certain ambivalence toward mortality’s shameless death grip.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SUPERFLUOUS JUSTIFICATIONS

Can superfluous justifications of reality induce us to perceive incorrectly the notions of right and wrong, or should we choose to perceive manifestations of our declarations of the innate conceptions of justice?
– Esinz

—————————————–

SYMBIOTIC CONCEPTIONS

The conditional nature of man is enveloped in the notion of good and evil; however, we are really driven and naturalized by our perception of the anatomy of real and unreal symbiotic conceptions of the singularity of hypothetical anticipations.
– Esinz

—————————————–

OBNOXIOUS RESILIENCY

The list came out, and I was not on it.
The door opened, but I was refused entrance.
The ship set sail,
and I was left standing on the shore.
What a tale of woe I could I tell of lost opportunity.
But on faith I walk tall, on fear I crawl.
I am not a soldier, nor a captain of enterprise.
I solve no one’s dilemma.
I am my reflection in the mirror.
I am satiated.
I am resplendently overqualified in all things.
I am obnoxiously resilient.
– Sinz

—————————————–

VICTORY’S REMORSE

I pulled myself from a ditch,
And looking over the carnage,
I resolved my fate,
I could not recall the foreboding,
demonstrative allegations,
perjured on my behalf,
by the totalitarian monarchy’s henchman,
reveling me as a Corsair, or, at times,
a swindler of faith.
Twill never be seen in the thoughts of babes nor fools, that which is connived in the hearts of men with no arms to grasp the innocence of loves twisted bargain, no legs to run though streets of passion,
no eyes to see the truth,
no tongues to taste true victory’s remorse.
– Sinz

—————————————–

PARADOX

The dreams of Sinz,
Are the profundity of Esinz.
– Esinz

—————————————–

PARADIGM

The sins of Esinz,
Are the essence of Sinz. – Sinz
DÉJÀ VU MYSTERIES
Be that man is soul to start,
Of nothing, given life,
A spark in the gallows fire,
Of destiny sworn.
A pillager of wrath,
Of upheaval scorned,
A parallel of the Omnipotence’s virtue,
A test of time’s interment.
Why then cannot I see the value of compassion,
And circumvent that which is only the rhetoric of baseless blame?
God, Satan, or any name,
Is not the culprit’s entity?
I look to the aftermath of millenniums.
The sole heir to the throne of iniquity lies in wait,
A shadow, yet omnipresent.
I want of all that a beggars kingdom inspires,
Yet I know of riches cast among the aura of delusion,
The thought of Deja Vu mysteries,
And I seize the lion’s share of complicity’s enchantments.
– Sinz

—————————————–

AFTERMATH

Mesmerizations of passing storms, the aftermath of introspective provocation.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE TRUE VULCAN

In his darkest moments of despair, the imposter cringes in fear. But the true Vulcan, welded in his quest, turns defeat to victory, and relishes the fight. For it is the hard road he seeks, to sharpen his blade, with the blood of his enemies.
– Sinz

—————————————–

RETROSPECTIVE ENCHANTMENT

The sentence, a measure of worth, glistening, rhapsodic. That few words bled to parchment, to underscore a vision, to heal a wound, the writer’s provocateur to freedom, the parlance in retrospective enchantment.
– Sinz

—————————————–

A MOMENTS BREATH

God raised his hand,
And fallow man,
And woman torn,
And creatures of night fall, born into heavens untimely gate, fallen angels, the iron of bedlam’s door, the path of pilgrims, the hereafter, became the light of dark dismay, and triumph, and the
fortunes of cities, that stand in ruins, the just reward for, the exact of a moment’s breath.
– Sinz

—————————————–

STAND FOR FREEDOM

We are all Gods! Do not get on your knees. Stand for freedom, justice, and love of all creatures both big and small.
– Esinz

—————————————–

NOCTURNAL INTROSPECTION

Ah, the cusp of mornings halo envelops the intrepid sojourner as he makes his hasty plans, the sun yet to burst the clouds reticent gloom, a day of reckoning, I presume, nocturnal introspection, passed too soon.
– Sinz

—————————————–

ASCOT WARRIOR

Ascot warrior, vichyssoise terminator, valedictorian of the masses! Honor to thine, and those of the earth’s wanting. Would that the rasp of perdition be forged in soul of man rather than to be handed down as cruel punishment for deeds of noxious ambiguity? To slander the barking dog is resolution perhaps. But to toy with the nature of beast and man is an outrageous game of cat and mouse played by manufactured baby sitters of conciliation. That which thrives is within.
– Sinz

—————————————–

FRIENDSHIP

True love starts with friendship. What it blossoms into no one knows until you get there!
– Esinz

—————————————–

THE FLAG TO VICTORY

Soon, to the rhapsody of incoherent sounds,
I will renounce my insolence.
My plagiaristic opulence is attuned to the quick steps of fortunate ghosts,
of hours ticked by in exclusionary delusion.
Interrogatory exclamations wane sorrows wicked oppression.
The flag to victory flies at half-mast.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE TYRANTS BUCKLE

Exposed for the tyrants’ buckle,
Of silver and shine,
Of reservoir lakes,
The sparkle of cities,
The end of defiance.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE EXCALIBER INOCULATION

A resurgence of nocturnal inertia,
That pitfall of synergistic balance,
The Excalibur inoculation.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE ASTRONOMY OF INCUBATES

Chamber my heartfelt ambivalences in stocks of barley rye,
the monsoon Emory Trail sun-setter’s railway fantasia
fore tells of not,
and bones of rays from suns a glazed repeat my afterthoughts.
The astronomy of incubates, exposed salon estates,
infatuated with the nomination of parle vu transients
that shun the light,
repose in darkest doom.
– Sinz

—————————————–

BROKEN CLAY

If I were not made of clay,
Would prisms shadow me by day,
And if I were not of dust,
What would swirl in my midst,
And bring me joy,
And complete me on the earth,
And push me through the narrow trails and hopeless valleys?
And, if perchance,
I could see through the mist for miles,
to mystic sandy beaches,
enticing my soul to wander,
pulled by the current of destiny,
Would I deny the oceans?
Forsake the stars?
Or would I be of them,
The same,
yet broken?
– Sinz

—————————————–

A GALLANT STEED

A gallant steed
does not bleed.
He rears his head,
and grinds his teeth.
And never accepts defeat.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE MARRIED BACHELOR

Seems a bit obscure,
turns no place,
certainly, I’m sure.
That’s no way now,
to shake the leaves today.
Anything is okay
If I turn away.
Crazy things I say.
I am the Married Bachelor.
And come what may,
I will never make the same mistake.
But truly,
I may be on my way.
– Sinz

—————————————–

OS TI EB

So be it. It be so.
Be so it. os ti eb.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE PURVEYOR OF LANTERNS
I am a purveyor of lanterns.
I sell soft shoe romance, moonbeams,
and love’s iridescence!
The shadows hide in morose corners,
nostalgic in their plea,
awakened by mirth,
redundantly absurd.
Should one peruse my wares,
there would be questions,
to which I have no answers.
I know not of galaxies.
I know of translucent narrow hallways,
shimmering black caves,
echoes of madness.
I am a purveyor of lanterns.
– Sinz

—————————————–

STAND ON THE RISING SUN
Stand on the rising sun and you will see the glory of earth before your eyes!
– Esinz

—————————————–

TO FLY FROM EDEN
The wings to fly from Eden are built on the furtive desire for freedom and knowledge.
– Esinz

—————————————–

REVERIE TRANSPIRED
I assuaged the rounded archetype of cylindrical auspice
to circumvent this apostles’ creed,
and, in shattered limbo, I transgressed the opinion lapping dogs,
and reverie transpired.
– Sinz

—————————————–

EQUINOX
I get up, and the fish still fly by,
Smiling at my equinox,
Drying their wings,
In the heat,
Of summer’s retreat.
– Sinz

—————————————–

TRESSPASS
Sons of sailors,
The ships of old,
Trespass through my hearts entangled crime,
That of which guilt will find.
The truth is hidden.
That which I see is in a chosen time.
The mire is thick,
With handsome rhymes,
Now to be my earthly shrine.
– Sinz

—————————————–

OATH TO PARADISE
Cultivate the wit to sing of soldier’s journeys,
of cafes on cobble streets,
of loves tragedy.
The oath to paradise is a handshake agreement.
– Sinz

—————————————–

DIAMETRIC DISSOLUTION
Diametric dissolution of fact is real. Say not, see not, believe not.
– Sinz

—————————————–

UNLESS WE DREAM
The sum of all tangents equals nil, unless we dream.
– Sinz

—————————————–

YESTERDAY
I do not partake,
In yesterday.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE GRASS IS SINGING
In this decayed hole among the mountains in the faint moonlight, the grass is singing.
– T. S. Eliot

—————————————–

SEA OF LIFE
A man of steel sinks to the bottom in the sea of life.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE TRUTH
After the rain,
After the pain,
After all is said
and done,
The truth spills,
from the mouths of heroes.
– Sinz

—————————————–

ASTRONOMY’S DICTATES
Disengaged tropical plants,
strewn about in chaotic fusion,
sunlight filtered entropy,
static rhymed cohesive floor level steam.
An aura induced symposium of futile madness!
Furtive diligence relays the outcome of a force field held circumspect by astronomy’s dictates.
Pray tell then,
what is that which is known but the remnant of that which percolated unknown for millenniums?
– Sinz

—————————————–

CHOICES
Succumb to your own wisdom or search for truth? Those are your choices.
– Esinz

—————————————–

WHISTLE OF A PASSING TRAIN
The hand of nature’s folly is not empty.
The contentious idle in languishing defeat,
while the contemptuous push the enemies of reason to the side,
and profess no king shall rule,
no peasant shall pay homage.
For no man is the keeper of my fate.
I am the whistle of a passing train.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE NEVER MIND SAVANT
I made the judgement.
I hunkered down,
and rifled through my happenstance brain,
antagonizing the spirited ensemble of characters that dream in affirmations rooftop and speak in logics basement.
I’ve run before.
I’ll be careful though,
To whisper in my conscious breath,
To walk in gallant times,
To see with topaz eyes,
The envoy of rationalism,
The portrayer of pretense,
the curator’s proclivity.
I am the neighbor’s cat,
I am the dog barking in the distance.
What is justified is often nullified by erratic impulse.
I will always be
the Never Mind Savant.
– Sinz

—————————————–

TOMORROW
The crisp air,
Take your share,
If you dare,
No one’s there,
So, take care,
Little one,
In the sun,
The nicest of all,
Till the jackals’ call,
There is always tomorrow.
– Sinz

—————————————–

SOUVENIR
Sometimes I see her,
in a past mist,
in somber thoughts
of cold wisps of winters edge.
Vicarious assumptions of cast-off casualties,
at one time surreal,
now to return in a fury,
amidst the halo of my indigent soul.
Like a souvenir.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE COOL SIDE
When the chips are down,
The chipmunks get nervous.
But it’s never too late,
to particulate.
Even fate can wait.
Get right,
don’t be uptight.
Get a little dog,
with a little bow tie.
And sip on the cool side.
You’ll be alright.
– Sinz

—————————————–

BENIGNINITY
Everything is benign over time.
– Sinz and Esinz

—————————————–

LEATHER PONCHOS
The sonic question arises.
Does the earth tone hierarchy invest it’s time in melodious gatherings of flocks of gulls?
Or do those swarthy enough fellows bear leather ponchos in the seething metropolis?
Barren.
Irradiant.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE SNAKE CHARMER’S HIDEOUT
The collapse of intrigue,
The incarceration of
disheveled,
amorphous apparitions.
The banquet of iridescent proclivities,
The face in the window,
The door ajar,
to come in or leave,
to enlighten or deceive.
The Snake Charmer’s Hideout.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE IMPOSTER
If I can relate,
I cannot hate.
To establish my plea for mercy at the Rivers End,
might I have that quality now?
But what do I bring to the chirping bird’s salutations?
An empty soul that waits in fear,
lonely broken and turmoiled of despair?
It could rain forever,
but I cannot cry enough tears to fill the void of injustice that plagues a forest of gloom in a meadows whisper of
tranquility.
I tread on the hallowed ground of nascent dreams.
How quick I fail to hear the rush of apathy as I encounter my life as The Imposter.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE DARKNESS
Night dwells over us with darkness, which may cause us to fear our worst nightmares. Instead, take the darkness and transform it into a broader perception of mercy and hope.
– Esinz

—————————————–

RELUCTANT SOOTH SLAYERS
The soliloquies of mad men regale the honors of tangible enterprises often sought by egalitarian spit swappers that prefer to glow in the dark whilst hovering in ramshackle mansions of twigs and leaves.
While winds and rivers confirm the truth of matters not abridged, reluctant sooth slayers of saner temperament go without notice.
– Sinz

—————————————–

RIVERS TO HELL
Rivers to hell flow through beautiful landscapes. Pathways to heaven are up mountains of pain and misfortune.
– Esinz

—————————————–

SINK TO DESPERATION
Stand on righteousness, sink to desperation, and live!
– Esinz

—————————————–

UNIVERSAL HARMONY
Ring the sounds of condolences sung in empty apathy and you will hear the heart strings of desperate searches for sympathetic empathy. But touch the wheel of absurd uncertainty and embrace it and you will see the infinite ways to universal harmony.
– Esinz

—————————————–

A PURGATORY OFFENSE
“Avoracious” is a euphemistic word used in place of “Avaricious” which, used contextually, fortifies the idea of artistic license, in a literary sense.
Being said though, the change in spelling does encrypt the Devils Backbone, that being an “o” replacing an “a” in a word ending in “ious”. The 16th century monks of Perdue in southern France were the first to execute writers for this blasphemous tradition. But, over time, as literary artists held to their cause, many a Devils Backbone word did find its way into the common vernacular, and nowadays it is only considered a purgatory offense.
– Sinz

—————————————–

I VORACIOUSLY AWAIT THAT INTERREGNUM
I voraciously await that interregnum.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THE GRAVEDIGGER
Achieve that which is rich in the soul.
Discard the remnants of past dichotomies.
Eschew the foot tag loungers’ omen,
the checkered past derivates dictation of lackadaisical summation,
that all is for not.
The Sarcophagus bug crawls at my whim.
Another man’s folly I know not of.
But my knowledge is tempered by fate.
I am directed.
I am the Kings jester.
Obey and live in surreal delectation.
Ensconce,
and the Gravedigger takes his gold.
– Sinz

—————————————–

UNRESOLVED DESTINY
An uninitiated conundrum spoken by a savant is a parallel to an unresolved destiny
— Esinz

—————————————–

MY COUCH
I do not live here,
but I work here,
and I would like to know that I am a participant in some shadowy residential way.
The longevity of my immersion in this vat of liquid is unknown to me,
so I tend to wonder, and the tasks
go by the wayside.
I’ll accomplish something.
Or, just remain on my couch until I figure it out.
– Sinz

—————————————–

THESIS ENTRANCEMENT
Thesis entrancement, the argument of decadence, and
the arbitration of commitment.
If I believe the planets to be of solidity,
almost comatose in sovereignty,
do I beckon the gloom of night to fancy their rhythm?
My search for fact is sublimely subdued by introspective doubt.
The pleasure of the question invites the ferociousness of the answer.
– Sinz

—————————————–

FISHERMAN OF SOULS
I steer good tidings your way,
fisherman of souls.
That which you can,
you must.
That which eludes,
rests in the spring of hope,
the vestiture of time,
the bargain of resolve.
For one man is of many,
the suffering is of all,
as the weary night envelopes a placated land of despots,
whose fall is but a paradigm for mans amusing conjectures of faith.

– Sinz