Chaos (Graffiti Meteora)

At first I wasn't happy with this. I realize now, that this is still my poem. It deserves as much love as any other.

Chaos (Graffiti Meteora)

 

The order of chaos

Chasing borderline seance

Tasting morbid oasis

Metamorphosis cloaked in the ages

Endorphins lukewarm incorporeal flavour

On a freeway to death

Even bells require a toll

 

The neck of the woods

And the throat of the mountains

Will swallow a man whole

The broken jaw of a cardboard box

The smile of a rusting city's skyline, nails and pushpins

 

Like a run-on sentence

Trailing over their own jagged steps

Climbing over the ivory sidewalk

In their ebony paradigm

 

Tripping on memory-lane

Harvest-moonwalking the earth

 

The bloody mist of shattered bodies

Become the perfume of altocumulus

 

Blooming Jupiter’s hallucinations

In the fragile minds of annihilation

 

Shapeshifter born misshapen

Dreamscape of homo-sapient

Glaciers of polymerization

Sleeping giants of the breathing mountains

 

Lavender shambles of amber macabre

Avalanche in a bouquet of fingerbone dice

The still-standing-stone of a crooked inukshuk

A chess piece on the flat board of the horizon

 

Diving board tongue trailblazing dipping

Brush warpainted by watercolours

Swimming butterfly wings through a silken milky-way

 

I did not choose to die this life

I do not wish to live this death

This swirling hurricane of memories are not my second wind

Only the first in a long line of sentences

On the razor-edge of my seat

My syllables the gangrene guillotine of a doubleheader

Cutting apart the heartstrings of my hollow body made guitar

Phoenix of skin stretching drums in piano-wire barbed by love letters

 

A one man band, a one man army

Is still only one person

Trying to be a bonfire with just a spark of inspiration

And far too many faces burned into the psyche

Becoming a split personality without another brand of soul to burn with

Leaves the darkness enlightened by the heat of battle forging hearts of steel

Ashen as the grey moon

 

I am a shadow of an orchestra of ghosts phantasmagorical

That played the game of life

Through their instruments of ever-waring madness

 

Until the sound of destiny cutting the thread of a hangnail

Into crumpled notes out of tune

Where the book of despair is a wrinkled spine

Holding up the cover of darkness

Over an incandescent sky torn from god’s hands

 

The smiles of the dead are the warmest ashes of alabaster to bathe in

The whispers of spirits take my blood-born body

And make astral abstract shapes out of the molded clay that is my visage

 

Am I but a wallflower wilting in your garden of eden?

Of tarnished bronze suns and golden apples

I don’t have a reason to grow into another failure called man

 

I will be a wax statue of Rorschach orchards of a porcelain orphanage

Made scribbled maelstrom of terpsichorean herculean saints

Housing thunderclouds drooling crucifixes

And draining uranium under the fist of an eclipse

Because the graffitied cathedral of shadowlands that never sleep

Within the creeping recall of Elysium

My gangrene double-helixes a shrapnel baptism

Looping lucid dreams around like the bloom

Of a sewer-grate opening cornucopia in the hull of my umbrage

And this fortress of shambles

Of brick men who build walls between their bleeding hearts

Writing over branching amethyst canvas with honeyed words

Painted in footsteps, a vinyl Nile in a deserted island's rhinestone iris

Is not mine anymore

 

 

Author's Note

I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.

Reviews

[adornoscousin]

I love this poem. There is a confluence between the mundane and the quantum, between the banal and the cosmic. I find similarities between our writing styles. I look forward to reading more.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Always happy to share a poem or two, I read some of yours as well. Although I haven't left any reviews yet, please keep writing, I'll check in every now and then.