Michael Walkerjohn Poet Free verse

Those Lowly Entelechies

Impeccant,
 of non-textual matters
 one’s covered flesh,
 and hidden embrasure’
 as diffusate primer
 slips life’s veil, and
 in agitated pontlevis,
 cleaves the universe’ reason…
 “Egads! What sorcery is this?”
 Holy heart failure, Batman!
 “Beavis and Butthead”,
 on Soteriology!
 or merely, this word wizard’
 celebrity; slap my knee,
 and pass the shinola please
 would you then consider the following:
 palliate your lesser selves, or else
 where silence seethes, your spirit will
 bleed asunderp; and in the depths of space
 and time you will forget your moment’ cill
 so divaricating your soul, until
 that whisper of your assibilate voice
 remains in memory’s forever
 as that sound of death’s last hissing
 And now to secularize
 your quarters out per se,
 a knotted rope and stallions four
 two palms, a cup and nothing
 more than, one’s perceived illation
 with rigorous and self-righteousness’
 precipitancy, my will so locates your 
 remaining sang-froid serendipitously
 and in humaneness casts, this lifeline
 out to thee for free for you to grasp,
 of each person placed above all things
 as nature sings concretism’ simplistic rhythmic
 wringing “stream of consciousness”,
 a-flowing upon thought’s eternal thaw while
 Descartes’ “Substance Dualism” does so
 battle, against Plato’ “universalia ante res”
 supernal then, is an ideal’s whim, or Ids whine
 within one’s thought’s stokehold, as axis bold
 or love’s bestow, fires the flesh to render
 that pondering patch of thinking’s wrath
 awaiting that awakening moment’s bewhisker
 in essence, life’s xenium given in kind
 as is the universe’s night skies splendor
 passing that lending thought, behind a silent chador
 visualize the context and intent within
 a compelling and perplexing write to win
 an idea’s kneel before that “mercy seat”
 this particular and incomplete entelechy bleeds
 of questions asked and left unanswered continuously
 of generations after generations in weeping
 conscience wistfully fawning in defeat
 and admitting, to a lowly ponderings musings.

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