Haven't the brains of beings fractioned into lobes various?
The hearts of creatures have dissections multifarious;
My physique and psyche got several separations,
Like a train or a shelf, yet, these have conjoint relations...!
Classifications and categorizations are good,
If, like good deeds, they're optimistically understood;
Like roots, shoots, and fruits, the sentimental segmentation,
Just as constellations, should have a proper fixation...!
Boundaries are for safety and security we know,
Forming only frontiers, we shouldn't our strength and senses show;
Grouping of goals and prioritization of morals,
Must pave the way, like battles, toward attaining laurels...!
Am I, in the process, keeping away from kith and kin?
Does my passion for lonely liberty lead me to sin?
Do my conflicting thoughts and deeds bring me contradictions?
Does my anxious unconsciousness gift me many frictions?
If self-separation replaces cognitive action,
Compartmentalization is simply a distraction;
As bouquets of various flowers are placed in vases,
Prudent compartmentalization can bring in graces...!!!
Categories:
dissections, conflict, discrimination, life,
Form: Rhyme
Arsenals of axes brought by the crate
Pedals increasing experimental
Trashy dissections of raw cityscapes
NYC rockers gone transcendental
Static blasts shredding the off-key high pings
Maracas hit toms to keep structured pace
Drum sticks wedged under alternate tunings
Meted by contrasting booms of the bass
Dissonance anteed raises the ceiling
Shaping sound by analog disruption
Searching/defining an urban feeling
Stark layers of beautiful corruption
Sweet ballads sung without being pretty
Growls and screams about something gritty
Categories:
dissections, guitar, integrity, music, sound,
Form: Sonnet
At the end of a dry, harsh August, as
Autumn slowly descends upon Whitechapel,
I begin my vicious practice.
From Buck’s Row to Hanbury Street,
I make each house call brief.
My methods most precise—each cut, so deep,
So effectively fatal, soft and discrete.
A secondary incision—
Across my new friend’s abdomen—
Completes my process.
Showcases the subtlety of my craft.
In Dutfield’s Yard, with a sharpened stroke,
I slice open her tender throat.
In Mitre Square in public view
The next victim shall follow suit.
At Miller’s Court, off Dorset Street,
I complete my grotesque exhibition.
With this sequence of dissections,
I have ushered in the twentieth century.
My ritual of dominance, with my altar—
The architecture of London herself.
Categories:
dissections, abuse, crazy, gothic, murder,
Form: Lyric
Flatlined dissections erupt dissention dodeca mention falsified tensions entangled.
Categories:
dissections, imagination
Form: Free verse
Our conversations
You always seek my approval i know...
yet you never want to show...
we drink coffee.. you buy me cake we talk bitter sweet nothings till they say its time to close
our conversations are never complete... thats just the way it is...
and then we go our separate ways with our own thoughts swaying back and forth in the train
and then i go home thinking about what i forgot to say.... and you go home thinking about
tomorrow's day
I notice many little things while we talk... the way you sometimes are but these are my
private thoughts not to be shared.
I sometimes strip you naked bare...i dissect you in and out sometimes... but you would
never know .. these dissections are private.
You look at me but you dont look beyond... you look at us but not at the horizon...I dissect
you and you.. our conversations.
Categories:
dissections, home, home, me,
Form: Narrative