"Banished from Babylon"
They're there --
The seekers, the oath-breakers
Hiding in plain sight
While splattered against the iron wall;
An indelible wall of pretense
In the matters of casual discourse.
Such stories we tell to ourselves
Smack of volition's deceit and downfall:
A king overthrown from his glittering throne
By complexities as knotted as the Gordian twist,
Sluicing through oily rainbows
In the totality of extradition.
Their absolution melts incessantly
Into the gray-green sea foam
Of an overzealous rising tide.
A thousand thrumming thoughts
Galvanize through a war of attrition,
A war they were sure to lose sorely.
Extracted from the blood of the diseased,
The virus spreads against inoculation:
A splicing of kingdoms
In the vast hands of the villainous;
The blade of the sleeper cell
Cuts the cord on controlled chaos.
Contact is forced
In the primal voice of the excommunicated:
Muscles flex in a contest of power
As the thumbscrews tighten on feather...
Thus begins the tale of ages
And ends the era of unity.
"We're here,"
Our chromatic faces loom and sing,
Belching our familiar rainbow tune
To the unwashed mass of denial.
Sharps and flats enrobe attacks
In harmony's chant of heroism.
"White Water"
Ivory cogs snag and scrape
like cuspids spinning on a waterwheel,
unflagging and free.
Page leaves turn and sway,
Beginning the last chapter
Of your quill's liquid heart.
The glassy calm of the pond
knows nothing of unnatural pain --
only ripples of leaves across its still surface;
A spider gliding, silent and hungry;
cracked fingernails raking, raking,
drawing screams from corners of the sun
A secret folding, unfolding
Of paper feathers bound to spines
Like origami cranes,
Smudging ink across window panes,
Revealing the chemical rainbow
Of your multi-hued chest cavity.
The water hearing nothing of the rain,
just the scraping echo of cogs
as they drag across the sullen night:
The bellwether of your written exodus
From the corridors of divine mystery.
"Omniana of the Zeitgeist"
A tortoiseshell necklace
wraps throats
in mottled chain link
disconnecting
the mistake of happiness
a vacant voice in a vacuum.
Faces like lobsters
press binary glass
monitors for a peak
into subculture saved
to The Cloud.
We renounce the patterned
hangman's noose
replacing locks
with biometric scanners
Orwellian nature geo-tagged
in 4k video
quality, life of mice
in LCD, glass, and plastic cases
navigating spot halos
like a child's finger tracing.
Communication
accepted, friended, networking
digitally surveiled:
the webcam's blinking red
all-seeing eye of God,
the irony of broadcast solitude
streaming fiber optically
on an open circuit...
Safe in a blanket
of pervasive unease.
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