dimencreas
how lovely is a burning tree
how lovely is a burning tree
how lovely is a burning tree
like the thoughts reminisced
at any particular time
burning from
within like a dwindling
candle
as gothic as the metal
gates..perhaps
sculpted statues
or plastered
yet unnamed
architectural members
i am not just a fantasy
memorialized
perhaps, New Jerusalem
is really just a protestant's
promise
(i like studying designs
and that's how
Emily Dickinson define
a particular cornice)
swords cannot be all
about Japanese kekkai
or the scenester living
a dream within a dream
in his or her subculture
humans do experience
epiphanies like
disciples that were
misrecalled in our
postmodern world
dustsceawung is something
to think about
when considering
that elan vital versus
Actus Purus
so come along;
travel with me in the
byways of timespace
while all our menacing
deeds we can still erase
unlike Hannah's deesis
similar to Sarai's deesis
and John's ilmestys
the rocks shall speak
in Luke
so, why can't we reread
the ultimate scrapbook
Misanthropic Cadavers
Misanthropic Cadavers
Yes, they cut you open
that's how it
should feel when
eccedentesiasts
are liking flowers
but Ansel Adams
have a way of
viewing the gradation
of colorless subjects
Thy kingdom is not
from here,
until the baptised
took over
explaining away for
thee the stars
signs like I've never
heard before
just because
they are microcosmic
and macrocosmic
cosmotellurian timespace
I wish we are
not at all that soulless
and the forgiven
thuggish folks who
are actually moralless
werifesteria
werifesteria
it is chilly out there
now that october
is finally here
my clothes have
changed because
summer days
left swiftly
granted how
things can change us
drastically and subtly
but no one
seems to bother
to reflect about
the morrow
the time is now
the time is right
like papered over sorrow
of being alone
in this oleilu,
and i thought
life is better with
sei jaku
fruits and the leaves
fruits and the leaves
no one yet bears the
fruits of their own labor
when finding out
about life
shall I compare that to missing pieces
of a puzzle?
we managed not
emerge from the ashes
of this wartime strife
can i, myself, identify them
to stop the crying wolves
with but a muzzle?
we're probably long dead
and gone like the ashen
color of concrete
yet noticing not how our
false gods assuaged
our hellish main street
collectively, we surpass it
misery loves company
or do we dare escape it -
in our weary ways, venturing out looking at
vultures in the nightsky
from dawn—til advesperascit
this empty spirit
this empty spirit
this empty spirit
clings to life
like dreamcore
& haunted castles
pain and aversion,
the very things
that give it definition
so afraid to
lie awake
in this morning grave
only to see
people living life
like they supposed to
in their perfunctory existence