Almost Unreal

Sometimes I,
feel like ecstasy has found me
and imprisoned me
to lifelong satisfaction.

Being indifferent is necessary,
unless involved, occupied, minimum wage.
Status worth above average chump
meaning nothing, until chosen.

Gaze fixated upon colour.
Intention grazing summer suffering,
so good.
So real. So sensual.

So fake, honesty sees through
and nails the painful point.
An inflection of concise indecision,
stalagmite strength looms opposed
to stalactite staccato sentences.
and overwhelming, overbearing,
omitted phrases.
Chance the unborn articulate.



The other night I was considering changing my format of poetry writing. Was deciding whether it was beneficial to choose a single style and propel forward. Or maybe each different form I use attributes to an ever-growing sense of style. I feel that I must assume the latter, and that until I hone my own, the studies I partake in only strengthen, deepen the symbolism and coherence of my works.

Wasted By The Lands... which we created

The Netherworlds are located beyond
yonder hill, beside yonder McDonalds
A cesspool of morbid pantomimes dream darkly,
and wish a sudden gloom upon every well-being creature,
with no perception of a threshold comprehensible,
and rubber mallots perspire a wicked blood red
tinged- nay, tainted- with microscopic viral infections-
deadly, and not subtle either.

A cup is filled yet again,
and in it flows the spew of a mangly tapeworm.
Such a thing exists, and is drink'd by fellow men.
Paid for with a fair wage, with their meek, measly gain.
It so happens that this is not, in fact, considered
whereupon purchase a man merely thinks to himself (or herself)
that "there is a thirst that I must quench,
and be it some self-immolation."