What Now

Last trap

Last train

Showers of midnight now

Frost seeps out vocal breeze

Blankest of flaming barchetta

Pacifists hit my hood and wheel

Walls turn the harnessed gears and the

Ears roll my lies

I know myself laughing

Ascertaining constellations like keys in the open drawer

You are my fist full of bowl

My irritant question

Moment I am never asked

Fatted strings mend wood splint crock

But what dare I say to you

Dear, dear personae

What now that words are bags of cotton crumbs

That avalanche is past of everything

What now inside my marbling mosh

 Stopping to bend with Ipecac  

Let memory be memory’s poor

Looking to hand out ousted answers

Looking still for feeble mistakes

Last hour

Where you wake me to perception and I glimpse

A savior on the run

Reviews

[SleeplessVolcano]

Very interesting write......I was puzzled by a few, most notably,
"Fatted strings mend wood splint crock"......I'm not quite sure of the meaning of "fatted" and "crock" in this phrase, if you could elaborate?

[Perdition]

Thanks for reading and for asking as you see personae in the later lines you see that I am addressing a Jungian "masked" concept of consciousness ...fatted strings have a duality as music is fed by my playing and also as the unconsciousness has awareness and therefore a root of chakra. As for crock it is an earthen ware that again has a duality in that it addresses the source...a part mended with a splint and in the larger sense it is filled by the use of the guitar to balance my root chakra..Thank you so much for asking!

[lessa (kenzie)]

I had a little smirk at bits and pieces of this write.
This is very good, love it. Found it intriguing as well.

[Perdition]

Nothing like a smirk to relay a wonderful review.. Thank you for that!