close

the door, so the house

feels less

empty;

the draft

scares (them):

I open the airways

and what seems to be

spoken does not belong.

I tab my head, my eyeballs

a rush of seasons, frothing at the mouth

a blessing, a dizzy spell, weightless

purposeless too, upload that and distribute it as a reward?

I appeal and plead for fantasy, creativity

I teach spoken word and disconstruct disrepair 

I appear to be the same, palpitations deliberating whether thats a necessity 

adjacent to the arcane forces of wander and machinery

misunderstood as ran falsehood, the Internet has far rised past

Babel and its splendor, no wonder it casts a mighty shadow

atop crushed cultists swearing the upcoming final dawn

sacrificing brawn and mighty for talks of gold, wits and burning pyres of artificial intellect

capable of frank converse and creative genius

tasting palpable terror adrift a waiting game

sheep bleed real enough if sliced

and taste (like marital trials can too educate if one concedes not all that is sugar becomes caramel)

delicious. (divine guardian outside the hospital)

a man lost accepts to talk without pretense

when (they hide words inside a design)

confronted with the sheer magnitute of the habitat that nurses him

when, inside a building capable of displaying the true magnitute of mankind potential

such as a catedral the undeniable potential smacks him shut commanding worship

and finally when crushed by granite, now laid death by a ravine having taken a stroll by the hill

wrong turn, muddy pavement and now lonely, thats quite the problem

no matter what you do, time is a borrowed currency

saline in taste and of substandard make

a known quantity to both butchers and governors

a downpour, indoors at the steps of the turn of the colour leaves

a mop won't salvage this house from a deluge but a sea of bodies from that mob

just might, should they be real and not a reverie of retribution

at least angelic music is positively enchanting on autuum breeze. 

what else is there to tell? to whom

keeper of the frontier

salute the bitter elders, bless the ungrateful youth

it is a gorgeous afternoon where rain falls free

in parallels draw in both curtain and skin

should one just reach

before or after indifferent to

closing the door.