polysemy
protrudes, prodding power
letting chiasma
churn and curdle
ply poet-marriage:
an anankean lockless key—a dower
set upon a
dorseless tower
I eat my crow,
drowned in chowder
time sealed in
the wicking willow wood
—CODA—
I don’t want to
be solved
I want to be
inhabited
working in
dream-logic
surrealist
disjunctive fissures
places where
contradictions coexist
that is—
precisely
pointless
=======
INTENTION
transcendent
dynamic
turbulent
consolation
overlooking
tonal
varitions&
possibilities
a
disjunctive
predictions
in a
discrete
prescence
to
diminish
&
completely
eliminate
the
infinite
though
charming
&
original
stay
unappreciated
surreal
feelings
exposed
in
wing words
of
replicated
writing
reinvented
&
configured
then
liberated
When the Heavens Fall
The devious despotic dark ones shall descend
Riding sullen stallions to this hell will attend
Bringing with them fire and fear, a ballistic blend
Rulers of Lords and Kings, tyranny will impend
The sun will stop shining, the darkness shall extend
The forsaken have fallen and thus set the trend
Shivering silence no human can comprehend
Lachrymal lashes through weeping walls shall transcend
Cathedrals of condemnation, priests will pretend
Impetuous entombment, Angels must defend
Disjunctive destruction the demons do contend
Illumination and damnation, battle's END.
MP3...The Four Horsemen...by Metallica
Jan.12.2017
12 by 12 Monorhyme - Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Someone connects a bonsai to elemental peat.
Your visual collides a clay bite
of water, deepening the bottom of invisible fence.
My primrose was waiting for you.
Polychromes become volatile. An inventive
missile leaves the trace for a predator to scoop
an angel. I was afraid of wrinkles, the
disjunctive pain. Only an insane can walk
over the fire. The cat’s claw will take hold of freedom,
the bleeding wound of mutual hate.
I sit listening to ceasefire, shirtless soldiers
cleaning their guns, you still seek the empty vessel.
SATISH VERMA
Someone connects a bonsai to elemental peat.
Your visual collides a clay bite
of water, deepening the bottom of invisible fence.
My primrose was waiting for you.
Polychromes become volatile. An inventive
missile leaves the trace for a predator to scoop
an angel. I was afraid of wrinkles, the
disjunctive pain. Only an insane can walk
over the fire. The cat’s claw will take hold of freedom,
the bleeding wound of mutual hate.
I sit listening to ceasefire, shirtless soldiers
cleaning their guns, you still seek the empty vessel.
SATISH VERMA
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