Abandoned where aleatory fates immerse,
Exiled in the Whirlpool of Death we face,
Transcending a vanishing star's lost grace,
Leaving sanguine possibilities, a Time we curse,
Mirroring a microcosm of history in verse.
Perhaps in reaction, or rebellion, a world is born:
A world mirrored, where whims hold sway,
A candle's flame, twice bright, burns half its day,
Besotting fiction’s staple, known and long,
Dancing to its own drummer's vibrant song,
Problems, unpassported, its throng banish away.
elements
of
a whole
different
each time
played
recorded
impressed
or
created
improvised
ideas
thoughts
of the moment
unique
unrepeatable
aleatory
features
improvised
fragments
to introduce
variability
of
short patterns
without
coordination
a blur
of
possibilities
on
a
roundabout
of chance
impromptu
light-hearted,
in vogue:
a genteel
virtue
devoid
of
the vernacular..
..yet
straight-laced,
fastidious
maybe:
the
essentials
of life
in
summoned
semantics
of an
illusory
vacuum
In the nascence of one’s polonaise,
Always an unknown tune invades, unseen, unfelt:
The sonority of a somber night-sonata,
Inside a cold, dark tomb.
Aleatory existence led by revolting wheels,
Propinquity of flesh becomes insuperable;
The horologist can’t cease the ticking.
The tour de force of infinity--
I wonder why it couldn’t be a holding, exoteric.
-Pin Dew (01/05/2017)