A Red Minute

Whilst a medley of us lied upon the flocculent canvas

An ever so comely sound had been shaped of the void

‘Twas the sharp sound of supremacy coming to pass

Though honored am I to speak

Upon the sweltering passion

‘Twas an invitation like none before

Scourging these bones of the dark

Of which they habitually drink

The quaking quite mollifyingly

Renders a sense of solidarity

To unfathomable tribulation

Sjöfn

And again surfaced that smirk
Glinting ever so alluringly in my wake
Kindling an effigy of suspense

Amidst the faces that evening
With the minutes I dissolved
As classic fairness advanced
Forsaken was I to saturate within carnality

Could such a reason exist
For such monumental idolatry?
Could such possibilities exist
For the sake of emasculating warriors?

Bradypodion pumilum

For each morning that spawns

I evade your virulent dialect

Each syllable born of your orifice

Is embellished by grisly tones

As helpless I am forsaken

To canker in ire

To awake is to honor the culture of the universe

Though your miserly revelry ceases to deliver amity

Whilst your exploits wither into oblivion

Orphan Manor

Whilst I sauntered the halls

Her face surfaced before the lantern

That beloved grin an abstract design

Though she was settled behind glass

Fashioning the imagery ‘tis window shopping

Presenting the proclamation that she’s without a price

I covet not for alienation to shape us

I hunger for a sense of harmony

For us to never have spaked of tragedy

shaking.black.freaks

Shan’t one discern
Between a reverie yet to conclude?
And unprecedented retribution?

Society may think it dexterous
To berate the triumph of others
And reprimand them
in exclusive and dire scrutiny

Though such a sycophant
Becomes aroused by
The fashioning of controversy
An indictment is questionable

The Violinist’s Vendetta

As the hail makes love to the streets
I query its vendetta with I
What had I done to be defamed
By such unforeseen chagrin

The sound ‘tis the climax of the horizon
Echoes that of a violinist scarred by sexual mortification
The harmony plays in quite a lovely manner

Could hook one quickly if not careful

Appeased I sit in a wooden, black chair
And saturate in fine rock refrains
A pacifying compensation if I may say
A scripted version of hell

I, Square

Oh, how such calligraphy glints
In the waking sun ‘tis betrayal
Post-ejaculatory nocturne

Such crucifixion of misery
Performs as an aid to impending tragedy
And obliterates the art ‘tis suicide
so that infants be branded with

a mark of amour that is profound

In each and every star lies
a distinct honor undefined
In due time all shall awaken
Arousing armistice