May 21, 2014

I bite and dig in, between sips...

photo by Edward Rinaldi ©

why art is always an abstract take on modernism

colloquial corporate canards 
are cunningly conniving 
concealing anything 
remotely impermanent 
or conciliatory to love
as infinity

there might have been innocence within us, once
anytime now was interrogated
we cloaked ourselves in assumption 
beneath malleable faces of tyrannical and puritanical
we said otherwise

tides can chide 
between the push and pull 
of divinity and baselines
between erode and reveal 
and the turning of starlight 
into rocks then rain

say do we always heed instincts 
when weathered by circumstances repeated
are we guilty as charged, like the silent say
labeled pariah to pestilence
needless, except to fence in

we repeat hymnals 
in a reflected misanthropic champion daily cycles
of grind, grain and explanation, that it is all progress
that we were here once ago and again
wondering how things got to be spinning so fast 
we couldn’t feel what form came next 

so we cut slits in the paper 
and covered our boxes to pinhole 
the view of each part of our humanity 
eclipsed by powerful suns disguised 
as the soul bearers coming 
with more horses, hordes
and bone cages
they can make sing 
the songs of sixpence tropics, 
commercial rums and ryes


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