Short Miasmic Poems

The dimmest portion
Of a brighter light be I
Trapped in a miasmic
Cloud of misconceptions...

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miasmic,


alighting the foul bourgeois powers that be


bounce like carrion crows


on the prone corpse 


of the bled world....

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The brainwashed masses,
Wearing rose-colored glasses,
And nonchalantly flashing passes,
Never realizing the hourglasses
Are running out of time.

Miasmic shadows
And dystopian blows
Are working to transpose
The masses' crystal rose
Into a thick unending slime....

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Again is a foolish animal
Being led to the slaughter.
Again, Man. By this, war-times'
Ogrous corral-master.

This is its devouring site.
Quag's miasmic, pounds, heaves
Through which patriotic ritual
A blood sacrifice receives.

Tame herds, firstly driven mad.
Perversely made to appear
To sprout a horn; devilish tail;
Magnifies the other's fear....

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Chaos of mind Eating, inching, scratching, crawling. 
Deteriorating the tissue of my mind. 
Enveloping miasmic corporeal vibrations. 
Sounds that stretch, twist, and creak. 
Leaking emissions evaporation a contaminate. 
Eyes a window attached to the mind the trenches. Elaborated around the voices eating, itching, scratching crawling. 
Is my sanity dissolved into chaos made impartially?...

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A dolorous mournful miasmic hue,
colors all of my closing days blue, 
sweetness of days gone, 
that can't be retrieved, 
has me missing those souls 
whose death left me aggrieved, 
life should be lived with the relish of youth, 
before old age comes and 
confirms cold deaths harsh truth, 
mark clear the note that philosophers chime, 
get busy with life while you still have the time. 
 
New York City...

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An opened fifth of hangovers
rests beside his dried driveled arm
(drug used by underachievers.)
Out cold, head resting on forearm
Unconscious in a dreamless world,
a portal often frequented:
an alcoholics netherworld
and mind most disoriented.
A parched throat forces arousal
And miasmic exhalations
rekindle once more pitiful
repeated, inebriation.
A morning swig begins his day
and ends the same as yesterday....

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Calypso red dressed in dawn’s vague morning mist
Splendor painted behind the miasmic curtain
An enigmatic temptation dripping of murk and shadow
A delicately cruel mélange lost within nature’s backdrop
A barb in the thigh of our daily pious pilgrimages
Imprisoned beneath a shallow earthy grave
Forcing and screaming it entices it’s own release
In a measured fury of escape and conquest
The fragile orchid screams a silent blossom of victory
And worshipped thanks to the morning sunshine...

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