My veins are the schematics
My conscience the pragmatics
A nuclear weapon that’s omnifarious
Self destruct the one that’s multifarious
Many parts no two the same
Doesn’t mean I’m not painfully plain
Nothing about me is distinctive
Identical and parallel, anatomy’s instinctive
So why am I so self-destructive?
You don’t need to be quite deductive
Deduce the reason and the people pleasing
My consciousness requires easing
Rhymes makes the feelings and words coalesce
Does it really makes you digress?
Words made up of morphemes
Feelings made up of morphines
Nothing without you has meaning
It isn’t held it’s given without demeaning
My schematics look better inkless
Don’t want my veins to circulate just ingress
Temporal Dilettante Journalist
David J Walker
no-thing need not name the nameless
breaks the morning in disguise
shakes the shame and wakes the shameless
quench tormented turbid eyes
the bootless errand realized
who shakes the hand but shuns the banquet
a polymath of nullity
a picnic spread on follies blanket
the argot of a fervent plea
omnifarious frivolity
dante sings symphonic anthems
measured meters latin chants
pardons plied to paphian sanctions
the queen retorts in satin rants
a paupers portion the monarch grants
bemoans the message minimalized
Oh! This eternal, infernal lockdown
I want to strike out, in ill-natured rebellion,
but all I can do is grip at shapeless hope.
I’m free to dream, of course, and I dream
my fill - I’ve become a dreamaholic.
My omnifarious dreams are deliberate,
whimsical, vengeful, hopeful - they even
tiptoe love's erotic, cutting edge but reality
soon returns - stealthy as a parent -
to induce dark, ordered boredom.
Thrice a summer aphrodisia snickered in my face
Yesteryear the fog of boreal passion surfaced across my window frame
Omnifarious passions are surfacing
The insignificance of homosapiens stood the test of time
Life molests all of us, maul us, then sing us to sleep
Spiraling through dimensions decorated with brothels and strip clubs
Aging with the grains of pebble stones
Aphrodisia is a tourist
Omnifarious cancers
Appear to elutriate the air
To the sharp turning leaves of parsimony
as fallacious acts brand us
and the flourishing hunger
betwixt our passionate fidelities
with loveless hues of death
every heart has a blind side
it's all part of devotion
overlooking the obvious
with omnifarious emotions
the counterfeit good faith
that travels across the miles
it might not be the first mistake
but it's all part of the file
and my illusion of choice
goes out a revolving door
and all the words I hear
have all been said before
forgiveness becomes a weakness
when it all comes down to this
when the blind side sees the truth
and all that was remiss