The End Of The World
I will outlive my words.
Mightier than the sword?
(To your god, perhaps - all
far-off and removed; unconcerned.) No.
Violence shall split the land
asunder. The deep drowns the dawn.
A wry smile from the groundlings.
Scrabbling for papers, we
push, shove, and generally
degenerate.
A caw of victory from me, at least:
I put someone’s eye out
before I died.
.
Cold
chaotic [...]

The loftiness of thy
incessant ascension?
A trophied divinity:
steel pinions founded upon
titled transparency,
January’s crucible crucifixion beach about the
pale-trimmed temple of trampled green;
Calvary orange-paved in
rivets of absolution.
Thy Winter renaissance?
A benevolent validation:
an Autumn of discontent made
retrospectively glorious - a
zealous derivation of existence
confirmed in blood.
Personalized
martyrdom.
resurrection.

You were the
unspoken measurement, the
yardstick - my
paper giraffe upon the bedroom door.
The sight -
your torturous questing abroad -
has tempered the
use of my stance against
despondency.
You have fallen.
I have tasted the lips of hell.
Let us take each other from the hard earth.
You shall climb that orange-girdered mountain
and I
must follow or be [...]

it seems that i am rowing,
the fluidity in my arms
timed
by an unheard signature which
of late
has underscored my
breathing;
this grasping at
fading incidentals
momentarily clutched by
fingertips raw
leaves me
continually riven by the
pounding of time.

.
        it is a certainty
        not unlike the
        death of a guitar.
        its dawn surges in
         unbridled melody and
          it is so
           assertive - a
            descant of furious surety.
        its sound dims;
       slower now. See the
      melancholy of its
     realizations, the
    final
   capitulation of conscience;
  a soft stratospheric shriek,
 the solitary string quivering its
last.
        it is [...]

.
    i will
   conjure a cantar of
  spurious consistency,
   the texture of my text
    sifting through thy senses until
     thou know but its
      memory,
       echoes wistfully urgent - the
                          
         laughter of innocence in a
          garden autumn-blossomed,
                            
           the growing, the learning, the
    depths
            of emotion delved,
                       
             the striving, the weeping, the
              sudden joy in
               bewildered exultation leaping;
               the
    barren
   [...]

overgrown lies a woodland lane,
  the certainty of its
    straightforward march
      now
        asphyxiated attrition.
growing things,
  wringing breath by their beauty -
    lofty endstates throttled into
   settling
  descent
 of
imagination:
 repetitive
 recreated
   ambiguity.