The thing about poetry,
there’s too much blandishment
placed upon words
never to be fully understood,
like a mirror
reflecting speckles of light
at a corridors end.
Because there’s not a thing
to be felt without imprint
of a thousand other stories
pressed upon it.
Nor a smile that doesn’t
carry a secret.
blarney
noun BLAR-nee
1 : skillful flattery : blandishment
2 : nonsense, humbug
Militate on one another with great passion
the nonperson,
The fusty one.
Nothing fancy, delightful or bonvivant
Having a genteel attitude, but impassible
Vagabond. Loner. Prodigious.
Yet no blandishment.
Complicated as a merman
Porous because of mutilation
The obsequy closed with an
Elegy
Rigmarole. Rigmarole.
Not the booby hatch which
hosts may
The railroad tied on knots.
Big as an intrusive blunt forced
object
The copulation of blood and oxygen
Wins over the slightly manipulated mind.
From inside, out
Hapless haploids creating the uselessness of existence
Making, permanently each place
devoured
Feeling the blades and molar impressions piercing through each layer.
i take my stance
abandoned on these
desolate tracks of life
that seem to lead
to road blocks
and dead ends
blandishment
weakens an already
dying heart
temporarily
before
it batters
a soul
if caution came
aforetime
like a warning
on train tracks
perhaps
i could halt
impact
before
it implodes
my heart
Seemingly lucid yet never seen,
A giant within humanity -
Dotted between initials.
The blandishment of all-
Without visualizing fragments.
Never staying for long,
Falling into bluest firmament-
Flying towards the abyss.
Left to wonder among crowds,
From a simple blueberry waffle
Comes the labyrinth of thought
Yet not trapped finally living.
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