|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Launched from the silo of the womb,
Controlled by initial guidance, everyone's
Abandoned to fly ballistic - we assume
A calculus of fate with course corrections.
Since every worldly force evolves a form,
A parabola describes our invariant
Resultant path, compulsion to perform
The Now as the asymptote at a moment -
Our trajectory approaching infinity.
Engorgéd youth, ascend in expectation –
Collapse in age, secrete a meager droplet.
Buffeted by chance and choice, the gravity
Of death, despite intense determination,
Again will kill our hopes to rise to orbit.
StratigraphyA layered section through the tell of the mind,
To sort the strata of a buried past.
The broken walls of old defenses bind
Us in a dungcairn we will not outlast.
Unearth the psychic potsherds, sleepless nights
Of votive offerings in the caves of fleece.
The glowing rubble of futile dreams, insights
From artifacts that promise endless peace.
Tell us about the man who left the palace
And its smoky light, who sought the way
To learn about himself, impetuous
To regain his vanished past without delay.
The cryptic sequences inscribed in ruins
Portend what he must learn to read as runes.
FoolscapThe page once folded, remains - never to be
Unblemished, the paper's grain never to regain
The purity the print conveyed to me.
The written word creates a permanent stain
Upon the brain, a pewter palimpsest
Conceals the tangled history of the mind.
The name below the title echoes the quest
Of those forever mute who are unsigned.
The flash and gaudiness of cyberspace -
Computer words can be as often scrap
As the untrodden route to inner space,
So little time for patient nibs on foolscap.
Our virtual poems inscribed in minuscule
Can reconstruct the world in majuscule.
Web ShamanThe ronin building labyrinths of icons
Flying the web's collage of liquid light
That summons us to quaff its frantic photons,
Its soaring travesty of tunneled flight.
The shaman of the fractal paradigm
Inscribes incantations only the arcanely
Skilled may deeply read in virtual time,
While shards of holograms contain ungainly
Palimpsests of pixels. Syntax hacks
Forging their hyperlinks in cryptic words,
Scriveners of the void, a vulgate that tracks
The vibrant neon space...ellipses and surds.
He seines the depths for images - mind hacking,
To curdle chaos into clots of meaning.
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
Keep in Touch!