Tag Archives: metaphor

Snap

The pressure,
functions far beneath the surface,
beyond even darkness,
pushing against mundane complacency,
the nine to five,
contentedness;
jealousy seeking a surface it will never see.

That viscera,
grinding like worms, displacing the earth,
infecting the mantle with friction;
ur minerals confronting each other,
conflicted purposes,
devouring;
Sacrificing themselves to see the end of the other.

It burns,
that ancient exchange of authenticity,
for the hot pulpy rage that takes its place,
patiently waiting in the soil,
biding time,
stalking;
until finally it can break free and consume.

The surface,
undisturbed for countless generations,
is corrupted by the change,
so long schemed beneath its skin.
Malicious intent,
contempt;
the kind of anger only born from corpses.

Reflections on Time

Interacting with your own line of time,
feels like death penalty electronics,
brain shouting in pyrotechnics,
warning or celebration, who can tell?

Perhaps it’s the screaming desire,
to transcend the moment,
to be sound, fury, too.
Stretching out into places as alien as you,
manipulating the history of your future.

But the noise fails to silence
the confrontation between your two selves.
Merely a transitory way station for thoughts,
as you try to adjust perspective towards fullness.

A magic eye poster of before and after,
regurgitated onto a single surface,
only making sense to disloyal eyes, corrupted minds.

Singularity, finally achieved, is painful,
requires hyper focus,
the tension if it stretches sanity’s bounds.

To hold in place, grab another and squeeze,
break skin, find empathy.

Guest of Honor

It stands against a marathon of sand
creosote winds playing the air in scented ribbons.
The way it feels;
                  the way it is –
        quilted together like conflicting fabrics.

Too great a thing to be disregarded,
too great a thing to accept.

Sanity keeps it always obscured,
                              out of focus;
the malignant veil a mere lifetime away,
too close for comfort.

The Art

Life is the sieve that filters our passions,
straining them thin;
permitting only a few freedoms – here
or there,
until the flow of it runs clear.

With a lattice like maze of obligations and tollgates,
keeping all the big dreams on the other side,
our mind desperately scours for starbursts;
reflections of light caught by precious minerals,
hidden amongst all that dirt –
salvation.

Poetry,
is life with cheesecloth.