Porgablis

Porgablis (in the style of t.s. eliot)

we cannot fall
not unlike those primrose ballerinas who have it
graceless dancers who caress the air with their spine
polite society at dinner table talks
upside-downing current talks and
filming countercultural sutures
defining the norm with gazing, distraught
rupturing to the question,
"is it safe?"
crystals fluctuate between dresses and twitching bodies
far away landscapes flutter
you and I make eyes
you glance away, in sensation
for a moment we are of a similar opinion
I long to speak to you, but know you will
not dare acknowledge what has occurred
and I am more saddened by the fact
that I am vaguely dissatisfied by this outcome
than anything else, and also by the fact
that I am less sad about hurting you
then I am about being hurt
for you see, everything is a reflection
Discussions on Kandinsky flow throughout the evening
greatly troubled am i that you are in here with me
relaxing, seething, bleeding through and through
in fact, everyone is bleeding
we are having a good time
until someone with a nail in their foot walks in
and then everyone is limping and shouldering sheepish like a dog
the sound is clearly resounding
from one end of the room to the other
oh the magnificence of its sender
only to be ignored!
glorified, the magnificat of ages
i stood in the presence of awe
when One who reveals himself in tides
is ridiculed, but sheds his blood
for the tormented because
the Light came to purchase the ridden souls
that only He could save
but o, not one of us were moved
not one of us could bring ourselves to stomach the conversation
so, we wept and pitied ourselves
and drew up a contract in pen and blood
and stifled the mouth of the one proclaiming the Word of truth
and fading to the endless revisions of sacred topics
cycles of psychological bleakness and destitute understandings
with blessings beyond measure of concepts of time
marring our treasury of knowledge with
carriages of insanity and games of pocket book wishes
we laughed and wept the night away
in a steam engine that tried unsuccessfully
to drill into the center of a doorknob we never opened
rather we played a rather nice game
of knick knock
with the One who could've let us in
our own selves--
and thus, everything


Corialis


vanderbilt insane pride walks
sunlight streaming 'twixt the past sidewalks
pleasantness all around us
what beauty in the pastures
drinking in the sights with the eyes
the cobblestone path drunk on its fixture
there is nothing, nobody here
still i wait for the end
havent i been here before?
the stones sleep on tomorrow
towards a great new beginning
it is closing to an afternoon
still, I walk as if asleep
great big mumbo jumbo thoughts swelling in my head
once there, now forgotten
I leave you with this thought:
was there ever a now that could be held onto?
what's more,
could there be a sign you believed in?
I look to my left,
In my grey suit and faded tie,
not truly at the golden sky,
and hear the piercing cry of a bird I cannot identify
the whole world is trembling now
I think I am looking at the sun
It is as black as technology can be
I think I want to die
There is something in the sky
It is indefinably vague
It scares me
The whole world is trembling
I close my eyes now, and keep walking
Night overtakes me like a broom a mice
I leave the park and go home
home is where the sweating is




vast gloom

the night is thin and unhealthy