May

Dancing on the shores
It is the liquid weapon
That generates the thirst
I can never quench
The Pursuit of epiphany
The saunter of currents
Feel the nexsi
Consumed in the drama of it all
Clear, without being hurtful
I wish to assimilate
This nexus of conditions
Like a grenade
Erupting everyone’s ego in the instant
the visceral part of me can awaken you

yet, they are proletariat
sloven and terse
as we become invisible to one another.
I have felt the desiccation of this rage before
And it plays like a charade
A recurring predictable plotline
Of venom and retribution
I grind at the cogs of our great machine
Rendered in strife
Forged in anger
Where the chiseler of reaction
Hangs like a treacherous chandelier
As I echo my fields
Deliciously seeking to encorporate
the whispers of clarity
we become drawn forlorn
In a house that reeks of urinal cake
Furbished in the contrast of self-pity and self-importance
As children, clustered in fear
at some confusing apparition
some eloquent nightmarish figure
that challenges their hopes and dreams
conflicting the ethereal places that cannot be purchased.
cerebrally drawn as water from a well

The instrument of my assention
compleat in its utility
forged in the tides of the temporal
everlasting in implication
kernels of such things
transcend these theaters
and I, I am whisked away in the wrinkles
folded into places that must be unfathomable
consumed in a desiccating fire
that seeks to purge you in the flames
licking me like déjà vu
where I write the future,
one letter. at a time.