15 października 2012
Reflections In Muses
Am I insane?
Blessed with trials
of unclean angels
perfected with imperfection,
mirrors of experience
reflected in a cracked iris.
The holy face that follows
comforts and watches over
with a holy smile radiating
in stark starry sleepless
pre-dawn mornings intertwined
in long walks to nowhere
from Yuma to the Middle East
with notebooks of noble philosophy
holding hard against supernova
storm clouds that sway blindly
into unknown fiery revelations.
Murdered with angry shotguns
on the brink of failed hope
as thousands and thousands of
trumpeted bugles scream down hills
in complete darkness one can only
discover in slippery black sand.
Slipping away on credit
in imagined Spanish avenues
that continue on until irrelevance
is no longer a petty comfort
to watch pretty girls
dance on giddy toes
refraining "This is how I am"
thinking about strategy, conquest
the science of sex, and
the next fix.
This is for you Priya Shah
This is for you John Caltagirone
This is for you John Bouse
because this life is not for
petty meaningless us, we
pointless chroniclers of
what we strive to be with
words destined to fade slowly
in the utter blankness
of pre-dawn mornings cursed
with the comfort of self-important
tarnished abstraction obssesed
with structure, form, and
stark raving expression.
Without you we are nothing.
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