This is PART 5 in a 12 part series for the Year of Sagely Living project, entitled 12.12.12: A journey of self-discovery for a lopsided soul.
To learn more about the project 12.12.12, click here.
The month of May continued to alter my view, yet through the course of healthy pruning, words have left me with little structure to build upon for an entire article. So, poetry it is, mix things up a bit, to shed light upon the continuing saga: 12.12.12 Year of Sagely Living project. To learn about the month of May’s homework follow the blue rabbit above. Thanks for reading.
Misuse of muses
. . . . … . . .. . .
I
Five difficult pieces
2 muses
shifting, conspiring
dining in oral intercourse
chewing on crusts of prose
mulling over spicy adjectives
sparking, igniting
conjunctive flavored thought
2 muses
sitting, inspiring
exchanging vintage 65s
electrons buzzing in atmosphere
while whirlwinds of grey matter
trade deliberations for unseen considerations
smudging each other’s words
smearing lucidness
in black muting ink.
2 muses
splitting, expiring
boxed within quartered encounters
resort to diverted eyes
updates without rebates
misplaced opportunities
for future road trip escapes.
She sat with misplaced eyelash
stigmatism view
lashed to invisible chair
no longer with golden thread,
rather with intangible coarsen screws.
Play with me she whispers
coyly tugging eyelashes aside
exposing milky whiteness
surrounding hazel iris
a delicate pause…
as air molecules stagnate
cluster like soap bubbles,
rainbows reflecting light.
I cannot he says,
there was more, he replies.
. . . .. . . .. . . . . .. . .. .. .
II
“Prairie flower—
growing wilder by the hour”
No longer a muse
spindly frail frame
feathers its way
lightly suggesting form
weaving amongst familiar friends
argyling around coolly bluely lit room
desire is absent
spent on booze and buzz
remaining lashed
simply limply present
impossible to regain
reins of wild weedy horse
. . . .. . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . .. .
III
How does the universe realize?
She sighs, then spies
an unraveling of thread
slowly she pulls
at first with caution,
then wildly with fervor
wondering with wild wanderings
what this yarn will tell
Seams of fabric begin to split
lifting up of coffin lid
opening jaws of life
revealing blackness in crevasse
where nothing reigns
because nothing’s to gain
Collapsing expressing as combustion
splitting into equal halves
one of fleshy peach
other of Eden’s crisp apple
pitching verse in uniformed weight
seducing narrator’s eye
Anarchic spiraling ensues
as fractaling fissures fuse
geometric figures
progressively scaling character of a whole
Beethoven’s 9th
knifes the silence
into neatly sliced
white bread vision field
while string theory loses tension
and
f
a
l
l
s . ..
. … .
limply to floor.