'Lone Star'

....


On haps that may, I've awoken dry

and longing for precession

Towards richer days, freer prays

and far less oppression



It occurs in a heartbeat's thought

the stack pressed against me

To it's dismay, I drag away,

to the balcony, but not to see



But to indulge instead

a rather dirtiest of ides

And stagger back, less of breath

Yet plentiful in sighs



And as I toss and turn a little more in fruitless escape of the coming day

I search back and forth and high and low in hopes of seeing some say which may

Alleviate this sick inception; a play on words, a strong intention

I fail again, and sooner then, I stand up to walk, in my contention







And there arose an immaculate unfetteredness of a kind,

a jet-black refraction of all that light that's cast aside;



And in its Body, Mind, and Soul and Spirit is this mirrored

upon all its planes, alight and shadowed,

and thunderously near her



A thing unkind of light and life: surely, they're beneath her!

A thing knowing not of strick nor strife: absolutely, they obey her!

A thing unmoved by pain of life: undoubtedly, it has destroyed her;

A thing ever-increasingly bright: irrevocably, the seed within her.



And in light of the imperfections of light and life,

It calls no extra darkness to implore her:

Be you a life? Or be you merely MY death?

and hope she forgets 'Force of Nature'. 






And therefore in donning a lightened shroud,

Do we cast aside the axillary buds of our doubt.

Yet in time does a Witch's Broom see its season;

And for time does philosophical ape trade his reason.



And so does that which "can't be shown",
indeed, find a stage!

But dark matter, and black ice,
as well as rats and buboes,
filled with lice, 
Are the sole resulting deductions

of those paltry, heady seductions

about which I(/we?)
never thought twice. (....?)







A lone star pulses, raving, stunting its phase

As speechless digging merely renders a daze.

And a break-away wall stacking fun-house mirror pangs

simultaneously deafens what in the sky still duly hangs.

But take heart:
for in noise, there is reason.
Indeed a catch-all quirk: giving birth, when in season,

to a take-all haze,
of thundering silence and regret, 
through which, by a fire,
is voiding up anything still wet.
And it sees to its end,
and to a never-ending diffractious net;


and by its beat's returning to us,

am I (/are we) by (a little) clarity met







And inasmuch and so as I

(am) Try (not) to (my) (re-) wire,


They, fill with fire; 
and they exhale desire....






(FIN)

(/....)