Snow

As I look out and over the white, cold stillness stretching beyond my sanctuary,
Covering all that was vulnerably left open to the night’s weathering whims,
I think to myself, ‘loneliness isn’t all that bad- in fact it’s quite cozy…’
For from any shade of solitude, comparison to the surrounding lugubriosity
Brings a simple light of knowing out of the depths of a desperate heart;
Making the individual flakes of nihilism, compiled as a sloping sheet of silence,
Shimmer as if dancing where they lie atop the frozen ground.
Dance with me, landscape,
Alongside a soul too afraid to counter rhythms otherwise,
Save from a chilled distance that renders judgment impossible.

Sublimely Captivated

No sooner than stepping foot outside my usual confines
Did all that’s becoming of this day become apparent
As nonsensical tyrannies objectively reigning down from the sky,
As if space itself were falling to pieces of infinite strands of light
Towards a subject, grounded and unwilling to fall with it.
It’s on days like these I wish I would keep better track of my sunglasses…
What is it world?
What is it you want from this person?
And why this day, when I finally found the energy to express my courage to see?
Is there any value in your forcing my head down in revelatory worship?
If so, I guess I’d rather not know,
So forget I even asked- I’ll do as this spirit is told;
I’ll look upon the illuminated, as if context had a clue;
And move amidst creation as if I weren’t chained to it,
Finding some sort of counter-rhythm in the rattling of my shackles.
This oppression openly stands, man aloof,
And concerning the source of its power
I am at a loss for words-
May my gaping stare suffice as explanation for this present state of madness…
May tomorrow’s observations yield less affected results…

In Anchoring My Art in Abstraction

I never really write about anything in particular-
The imagery moves too fast.
Moments stay long enough to attract my attention,
But then disappear as soon as I move in for a closer look,
Leaving not a trace of care, nor linger of longing
Amidst the remnants of my expression.
I reckon I can’t keep up;
Reckon it’s not even worth the movement of effort;
Reckon it’s reckoning holding me back from the start-
A thought to which I respond,
“Lord have mercy, girl… Just go to bed already…”

Funk

My creativity seems to come and go as it pleases,
Yet I’m told I create at all times what I see.
Unfortunately, I can’t create what I’m told,
Else I might better understand what’s going on
Within this realm of misconceiving-
But so is life, apparently,
And living towards that end I make do just fine
Without knowing jack squat ’bout nothin.’

Subterfuge

Of my true thoughts, there is no mention; no surface telling of the raw power wrought with fits of agony accompanying the unrequited expansion of my soul. Idled chatting makes no effort in the way of rejuvenated motions towards mere contemplation of inertia, henceforth experienced as itself from positions of distanced relation; where the ends of willing stand stubbornly in their fixated place, without conceding to their betterment, though they grow stale, ebbing against flows of listless winds. The same torrents of involvement that excite my heart into erratic pulsation, disturb not a soul beyond the confines of my skin. Phantasms- so fantastic I dare not express them in full, so as to prevent monstrous reactions on the part of modernity against the essence of my person- stem from my imagination in order to grow towards no sun, whatsoever, so that they are rendered ghosts haunting but one perturbed mind before given the chance to live amidst healthy possibility. The tides will turn in time, I know, as long as I don’t set myself against that which sets itself against me at present. It is through negative measures that I value my magnitudes alongside those staking unjust claims in inaudible difference. May the many worlds one day live communicably, as soon as the grim fear for that which grounds eternity subsides from our viewing of body by means of open eyes. I will compell magnetic attraction through translation of terminating terms. Slowly, and with great, convincing effort concerning my own patience, polarity will jump into my paradigm as a murderous act of its own volition.