Shattered

Ever so casually

it happens 

Veins split into fingerprints

a sieve punctures the heart and 

bulleted thoughts are followed 

The horroring crash of everything

you stumble some epithetical divinity

the quiet harsh silence echoes

drip by drip comes

the old new prayers

You scramble into shards

the explosion triggers sorrow

Then an alternate name screams

in painful ecstasy 

sorts and weaves the fallen focus

bringing back to place the absolute in 

nothing

The glass has shattered

A bond by flesh severs 

depth is warm

you gaze the openings

The rising Christ of floor

But only as you were and are before 

beginning to breathe

attuned, you attend by sweeping

reaching down to regain 

some unattainable in sanity

Reviews

[Dessi]

Here I am now.
Entertain me.
Actually, I wrote a poem with the same title.
Yours is profound...mine...so-so.
Man! The time flies whenever I drop by.

[Perdition]

A misquote? My libido? The poet and the page, subconscious subliminal reasoning but what is breached was always there waiting to be heard. If this found you I am pleased and would recommend to remember that I it is merely the surface and reflection of some river constellation … you are the stars dear reader~

[Dessi]

D'artagnan, I read long ago Sire cobain's explanation of Smells Like Teen Spirit...Albino, him, mosqi=uito, him, libido,him...of course we always rele=ate most everything to ourselves,correct, my dark knight? I Do glance over other readers comments, rarely, But I am in YOUR house. I come to see YOU. Hear YOUR words...With that, I bid you, once again, "Till we meet again."

[ETERNITY]

Somehow this reminds me of a suicide that happened in an apartment just before I rented it. I had no knowledge until I mopped the kitchen, yes, kitchen tile floor and blood coagulated but made fresh by the warm water came rushing from underneath. it did that every time. it was nightmarish and made me sense the victim wanted me to find some type of evidence. fingerprints, hair, ect. The glass was, indeed, shattered. Did the shot come from outside? Oh, but the poor are are destined to die and rot with no trace, I'm afraid. No one ever care to investigate. The Christ floor was The spirit under all that blood. It screamed for vengeance, for at least justice. It never came. Your writings inspire me so much. Thanks Perdition.

[Perdition]

And he never wrote another f*****g word again… No absolutely stunning and without comparison just imagining what you must’ve gone through. I’ve have had a few instances as well but not anything I really wanna open up about on this site non-poetically, though I do appreciate that you did share this, so I feel a little bad, but sometimes it just be that way… Pretty damn wild too, so thanks for such wonderful inspiration! I’m crawling to get back in and amazing support as this helps out tremendously. Thanks and next time report it okay cause whoa!

[ETERNITY]

YOU, Perdition,remind me of Bukowski in that you don't really give a s**t what people think. That "flaw" creates delicious works. It never sleeps.

[ETERNITY]

The first verse, "Ever so casually it happens" ..I picture someone walking by checking a gun they might've found or stolen...It goes off... your works inspire and that's all that really count. Bukowski mailed over a thousand works before he was acknowledged. I don't think you want fame, but somebody above we the lowly needs to acknowledge you...I acknowledge you but who am I? Just another grunge trekking through weeds and mush of crowded wasteland looking for that light, a beacon on a hill calling me from out of the mountains..."FIND ME

[Perdition]

Will there be wine?

[ETERNITY]

Actually, eternal damnation, I don't drink alcohol nor get high on any drug. With the earth full of dismal ...well, you know the rest. Thanks, Perdition. I love it when you return.

[Perdition]

But, but, dismal is that favored recourse, lets the in back out and the out back in...I was using wine as a metaphor..Words...always words!

[ETERNITY]

Always my pleasure. Perdition. Wow. A contradiction in terms. I love words, too. Later.

[Joli Dy]

How many times have I read this? At least as many times as I shall read again.
The rising Christ of floor met with broom. How lost we so often are, how blind.
The glass has shattered. The scramble to shards still pierces my heart, and unlike the intent of malicious sieves everywhere waiting to pounce, this is a piercing that promises.
Veins split into fingerprints...casually or not, this is the dwelling place of the profound. Please giftwrap your mind and send it to me, extra bubblewrap and "fragile" penned to a label I promise to read in an awed and reverant Italian accent before I display your brilliance in my window to inspire the neighbors.
Yeah, this is brilliant. You...are brilliant.

[Perdition]

Oh, No! This is where heartwood burns and the oil is extracted with reviewers like you. Merci beaucoup! We run the mad late hours "two invalids home from hot climates", I do believe as well. Now, be honest... what have you to say of the "magic lanterns" of Prufrock? Yep...running!! Back at ya Poet! (OWN IT!) Smiles~