The Empty of the SunA Poem by R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe) A (tool/fool) (for/of) the future (seeks/pretends) to (know/represent) the past- Will be writing a third part to this poem as a separate work. It will be done in the coming months. -R.J
Part 1
Victory In Failure
Know that you succeed in failure Failure (transmogrifies/metamorphosizes) success; {Leading/warping}, linking lines across (the
territories on) one’s face Farming, irrigating the dirt of the skin, tarps pulled
over Wrinkles in the fabric of an avalanche, Carmine lilacs bask, marching) in(to) memory Linen prism of photosynthesis infinite; Creasing water-coloured cluttered clouds yellow(ed) Ripping strands of amethyst From the scarves of efflorescent ecstasy Beating Elysium into the stygian rivers of jagged rags
ribboning Fall in downwards spirals Learn to hate the staircase It is a step above you; the clouds; The birds squawking gouache; mackintosh’s moksha, peridot cloth of the
shallow clouds Clockwork from the spiralling highrises, Fibrous strings of violins Bound like Atlas in the chains of this earth Listen to music in silence To frayed edges, the echoes of the pages of history crossing the many
channels of static life Watch the stillness as it moves gelatinous, amorphous, unravelling In alabaster flowers, tranquil discord, Sane madness, orderly chaos You too will be worn away; sculpted, shaped, into art, eventually Learn to plummet rather than fly; Teach of the weight that binds and tethers you, holds you The threads of fates in a guitar, blooming from junipers Run the rails; until you can carry your emotional baggage Beyond boundaries, into the amorphous heavens of a dream; Catching planes with your bare hands; viewing worlds in midflight Poinsette’s feathers efflorescent iridescent; A single thread of ebony ribboning prisms of unfolding imagery; A blooming flower cowling The roots of a tree hold onto (rockface/memories) of stagnancy; Static rivers flowing smouldered Carrying a single golden leaf; Blending nebulas’ assemblage of gauze; cobblestone crows Until spring comes; like the devil, up from the dirt Wash warbling watercolour out from dry lips stretched into smiles Carve passageways into the cliffside Leading you home; through tunnels of light, dancing Drawn out shadows like lead shedding the page like a chrysalis The way angels suffer sin In the cacoon of non-existence; in stillness, in nothingness Born without wings You can’t fly But in knowing, even worms may win important battles; Fighting for flowers, clustered together like a nebula, glens of remedy’s
edifice (Even) in the dirt; (it is hard to say goodbye) ({In/to} the morning)
Frondescence
Blanketing branches in the chasms of amethysts; anchoring
themselves in a memory No comfort to mother these smothered feelings; echoing
into the cardiovascular mask Hieroglyphics crystalline with lithium Trickling through the hallucinogens of unending
genesis In the ravel of a shrouded cowl of balaclavas’ clouds Jasmine topazes of amaranths Of pomegranate nectar in sepulchres In the honey of the sun; Slumbering homunculus Colourful choreography carved in the arteries of
harbours; Fields of barley under the golden crow; Perched at the pinnacle; untouchable Brushstrokes of opal metamorphosis warped Into the black Rorschach fractals; Like pillowy frills; chiseled amaryllis Shackled by alabaster walls Surrounded in the fear of a mural; Peeling back the skin like wallpaper; Reverberating, refurbishing the blur of an eternity; Curling into the churned clouds Wandering the skies otherwise empty Bark archways in the everglades’ halo like a grey
tornado; Corona of magnolias in the soma of a dying ocean; Motionless as the cliff over the rift of the abyss; Ripping away the suede of clouds and shade Vermilion ventriloquism of cathedrals Crocheted in calligraphy; graffiti of bougainvillea Willow’s capillaries trilling like a piccolo; Whittled from cerulean basilicas Instead of the shackles of anathema I tried to please them all This bitter man I am I know better now You can’t change; warped glass, The ludicrous eclipse; its drifting echoes, In the resurrectionist’s sepulchre; Kept in line, swept aside in the sunlight’s twine Blindsidingly unwinding me capsized in violets; Transmogrifying xylophones of vinyl briars spiralling
hyacinth; The crows of clovers like coronas The city flooded with bright lights of lazulite
oneness; braided together It all blurs into empty words You cannot outgrow the garden Uprooting wildflowers You labeled me; I’ll label you And that is nothing, if not fair I know I love you because (I/you) don’t love me Pictured between the frame of every second wasted; A gouache between the chapel glass; In the bombshell of a mandala Camouflaged in the gauze of a terracotta andromeda; Comets of armadas in bottomless pomegranates with
branching antlers Embroidered in the foliage of turquoise coiling itself
into the strings of a guitar In between the four walls of my heart The world counts slowly to ten Before opening its (blinded/blinding) eyes As we (all) hide and seek salvation With our closed eyes (stumbling) Madness is a bridge over sanity I haven’t dared to
cross Over schools of fish that teachings cannot substitute Class in rooms of cumulus Among the halls of andromeda Deserting honour Forgetfully nostalgic Infinitesimal forever Falling down the stairway to heaven ‘Cause I do know love In the mourning And it’s not a question now The change is coming And I will be left behind; in the lonely summer lights
of opal Paradise is hell with a pretty face; launching a
thousand ships towards the sun All the suffering I’ve endured meaning nothing In meteoric floral euphoria in chords of corridors’
orange metamorphosis It all returns to nothing Tumbling down, tumbling down, tumbling down Sometimes you have to die to learn to live Dive into the sun And drown in the bright lights of the city Singing until your voice cracks into mosaic Split like the reflection in the mirror Learn to love again Friend to no one; except for the shadow fading pale Fighting tooth and nail into the symphony Dancing in sacrosanct; to the road I commit my feet
now, gouache, walking I’m ready my lord; as the sun rises I am ready, now
The Empty of the Sun
Can you still smile Without any teeth? Stray bullet, fallen star, rhythm within flesh; a
fistful of anarchy Ribbons in (your/my) hair; like mountain streams Threading your iris through the eyes of needles;
hurricanes; hollow tree stumps of homunculus You know no better; the Fates have already cut your
shackles loose Every fibre of my being is in the frayed pages Left/unwritten/tapestry/arras/one Or did you remember What it means for me to forget you Cut free; left in the dust, like you did to me A bible spiralling through dialects of ecstasy;
bethel’s maleficent precipice Left to wander through the corridors of thought; the city
at midnight Somewhere over the edge Hanging by puppet strings; Never learning how to dance to the tune of silence Never learning how to (overcome/feel) the
numbness of pain Never to notice the movement in stillness The fluidity of rigid rocks across the docks of
mackintosh blossoms in basilicas; Crashing ecclesiastical gouache In the wrapping rapturous taffeta Collapsing into blasphemy Acrylic vermillion under the umbrellas of a stella; Marigolds of parables laced in creation Only knowing The end is in sight; off in the chrysalis of the
distance; rippling into cisterns of lithium stitching Feeling the bending contorting thunder in a river, or
a tunnel of light; slithering through Carnivals of embroidered exfoliating magnolias; Etched, sketched, frescoed, Carved into the bright lights Like a hundred undiscovered colours That smother the skyline in their twine Unwinding into the bonfires of Gaia; Pious silence; the mosaic of our lives Fit hand and hand like a puzzle piece; Everyone ripped apart; Put back together again, in patchwork; Stitched into tapestry; Grown into garden; born family Grasping the train of thought; Tracking in mud through the living room; Railroads of letters scrawled across the dirt Through the lens of a windowpane; Shattering expectations; Cracked by the shrapnel of daffodils; Broken in and put back together Like an eggshell of parhelion melding inelegantly in
underbelly’s of cellos Wreckage of precipices eclipsed by perfection’s
effigy; Leaving behind our footprints in their endless colour; In the bowels of the clouds; shadows unravelling in
the gallows of a windflower Bound to force others down through the same path; The oars; the treads; the oath in the oasis without
freedom, without destiny; thought, Wait for them Born out of lack for love Born out of the need for music in a world filled with
empty noise Moored, skinned of all its fat; Left out to rot into dust (They/you) mock me Like (you/them) I know better I peel back the skin; to reveal bone; the painted
canvas; an unfinished work you made of me I want you to see its image; yourself How I learned to write with these hands; painted
another year’s cresendo on this back The flower, the reddest rose Is it familiar? If you planted it in the thick black dirt Do you think it would drag itself out from underneath
the depths of your shadow Like surfacing from a pool of water; a tormented soul A grave of wildflowers; a silver lake; a torn mural Of despair; of the valleys under the mountains of
death? Yearning for the brilliance of the sun as anything
else would? To climb up the citadel of bodies; the chapel of
astronauts like strawberry obelisks listening Find God, and reach for him like a silver dollar Leaving the hollow of an eye socket; bleeding So that there would be no viewpoint To judge me from? And no mortal man To fear me? Just the lucid crucible of thought to shape me From the warped talons of God? Like a snake dropped down upon the rockface of
creation To slither down like a river between the cracks of my
façade Would I be overcome by joy? Or would joy overcome me? And send me back into the hell you built for me The prison of words in your tangled hair Will you still smile? With this mouth that belonged to you once? With these hands that crawled up from the dirt to tell
you I have not been forgotten Yet So wait for me To (know/feel) the dimensions of emptiness twist(ed) between
the liquid bricks of your fingertips Let the photography, the flowers, let it fade In time I will be gone tomorrow Anyways Eventually; like you Ricocheting ripples in the empty echo of time;
hollowed out; stencilled in sentimentals Pretzel’ing incomprehensively into intercontinentally
compartmentalizing horizons Like a lit firework; exploding into colour; then
leaving you with cold silence I hoped to mock you in the same way you mocked me Brilliantly; colourfully; indiscriminatingly Like a sin you could never atone for Or a love that could never spoil Every pulley; every spring Every coil; every sting Like primordial polaroids in the void of magnolias
above the droplets of phosphorus Blossoming into one room; infringing on the prism of
linen; illuminating shapelessness The dark side of the moon; ambiguities of doomed
unison delusionally rouge In every hue of June ballooning rubies of fluid lunacy
behind the blues of suede in polymerizate The wastelands of nature breaking through the lacquer Beautifully In the beginning; there was chaos In the beginning; there was chaos In the beginning; there was chaos This isn’t the way the world ends Within the solidarity of every following flowing
moment Bending and contorting; reborn in the span of a
heartbeat; a Rorschach butterfly Rising out from the hollow, empty sun; Man walks upon this sacred earth; living in a frenzy; passing
into madness; into obscurity Singing and dancing the waltz of death With masquerading angels; walls of flesh; pustules of
motion bound by more than flesh There is no love here; there is only humanity The sickness of the soul; never being full of itself,
hollow of the tree Pollen in the columns of debris; turquoise foliage With the setting sun and the rising moon; with the
empty and full of the mouth of God With the endless abyss of lactescent sepulchre Pulling nails out of coffins And burying the depths of the past under Clandestine futures Transfigured in the amygdala; infinite ligaments Instinctual; inescapable Efflorescent/bright/incandescently/hollow We scream in unison But there is nothing left to hear; Metal scraping against metal; heaving like an iron
lung Only silence; sinking like the summer sun; setting
orange, its lazy orb Black mirror reflecting white light; white noise into
black night Different in the same noise, the same way; hard to
distinguish with the disguise of twine wyverns Of white shadow; blackened sun; coals burning neon Like tapestries on a wall Leading into avarice; juxtaposition twisted into
bristling nickel Forming blades of grass tapestries; to strike down the
clouds with Stringing together sentences; stitching crucifix’s into
nickel Lovers suicide on the river Styx; drifting in the
shapeshifting ichor of lithium cisterns Churning into burgundy Falling through the branches of amaranth lanterns;
chrysanthemums Rancid answers from the pancreas in corpses of
metamorphosis contorting Orpheus Writing poems with the empty of our hands; stretching
out and reaching for the trees Never catching the dilapidated stars; still; We were born dead; Decorating our halls with pictures under the
crawlspace of life There was nothing for us here anyways Could never be more than the slush of dirty snow under
the foot of winter And I felt the imprint of so many feet branded into my
psyche; Trampling over my poetry Stamping on my dandelions, sunflowers; weeds in the
garden of Eden I could never know the difference better; Anymore completely Than anyone else But you already knew that; didn’t you? Humans don’t know any better We were born to hustle four leaf clovers to those unlucky
downtrodden silent grasses But; thickly covering the garden in chaos; lavenders of madness
raveling Instead, we grew hate; (Vengeance; [like wildfire]) (And then) (We left [our/the] garden to the weeds) Instead; tending to ourselves Watching the blind lead the blind to salvation Listening only to the sound of silence Despite knowing, feeling, hearing everything [Discriminating/judging/incriminating] <[(Shackled/demented/defeated/tormented)]> Through our love Instead of loss It is victory that that has crushed us Instead of [imprisonment/captivity/subjugation] it is freedom that
has shackled, us Instead of an apple, it is the seed that has wronged me I know that now; I know sadness, it is all that I have now, and it is of
no comfort to me I watched it grow into a maelstrom And it swallowed me up, as I did it And spread its roots from the bottom of my entrails Dressing the sky in velvet; crawling with the follicles in the bellflowers
towelling in my bowels Eating my heart out And planted itself behind the eye of an empty sun For it is pride that becomes the most shameful sin It is wrath that becomes eventual unending calm in death; (The bottom of a cold watery abyss; asking for the warmth of the sun,
receiving not) And it is love that nurtures hate; But what else is there to cling to, cold-heartedness? As you walk away; again; The animal inside me Is staring back at you Hearing your steps fading into the stillness and brilliance of succor’s
nothingness My words; (the/twisting) curtains buried inside you Over the stages of grief, you endured; {masquerading}-acting as if Just like me You were human Once
Dye (Mesh)
Beige waves of lackadaisical sables curtail in the
braille of azaleas In
the lavender chasms’ unravelling Parading
the lace of constellations’ dilapidation In
the sake’s machinations; prophets in an apple’s dilapidation masking gouaches In
ribbons of deliverance, obsidian slithering Rivers
of epitomes whittling away the grey haze of alliteration; Fusing
my pseudonyms like psychedelic melodies From
the umbrella of your skeleton, Hellion’s
rebellious to the twist and turns of eternity; Currents
re-emerging disturbed and purging the curving butterflies of burgundy; Thaumaturgy’s
metallurgy is the petals’ sterling Curtain
of morning expurgatorius, glorious; Birthing
accordions, serpentine organs Churning
the burping twine surging words from the vine A
bouquet of vertebrae; Birds
mosaic crocheted in mayhem; Nightingales
with their halos like a sailboat The
railyard of a harbour Discarding
the mantra for the auburn Carving
linen in harlequin Boasting,
to see in colour Between
gaps of black and white
Twisted
Heads
As
the world turns, as the skies watch diligently As the waves crash in the
shrapnel of liquid taffeta As the mountains stretch
their tired arms up towards the heavens As the flowers bloom
overflowing pollen out of proportion I will follow in the
footsteps of no one, this is absolute Holding up the sky;
carrying the whole world on my back Hustling smiles among the
ghettos of the dead What better way to live,
and die? Outstretched; reaching
for the moon Stillness billowing; never
ending up in the stars? I tire of knowing the
answer without knowing the question I suppose we are jigsaws;
torn apart by time, remembered by nothingness The hands of a clock
conducting the madness of our lives There is a tempo to the
clockwork of a damaged heart There is a tone to every
word silence spits Decaying on the radiant
plains of eons wandering auburn kilometres I suppose we’re all
murderers; in a way, thieves Killing time with the
hands of a clock Trying to turn back the
hours; the current passing through our veins like a canal; too heavy Varicose with the soma of
everything left behind Maestro of words that
form nations in sentences I cannot walk in your
shoes You no longer fit me;
shadow You left me in a darkness
I could not swallow Fading into memory; I
mask you, like a second face Many faced dice; gambling
with life; rolling along a roulette table There is a different side
to every story; beaten down; knocked up with the children of odd gods This purgatory of
corridors; this penitentiary; this house of cards, this apartment of cells I take the stairs Not knowing up from down;
spiralling into madness Retreating into the shadows
that are painted by light into the corners I am the light threaded
like tapestries through the windows of the soul Every peacock feather
mural; needles of reeling film Light stripping painted
canvas; flesh from bone I try to wash off the
fauvism of my words; the chintzy rinsing photosynthesis; blotchy phosphorus But they cling to me like
maggots of peeling brushstrokes; nailed to the cross of gouache Scratching residue off my
skin The many pages that I
never wrote empty vessels that never bloomed into plumerias Covered by the crumpled
lettering like peacock feathering The leatherback of my
hair; Sprouting from the many
lines that domino down from my eyes Left out to the decay in
the malaise of the hot summer sun Bending its way through
the drapes of blindmen My eyes white with the
implosion of a thousand suns The pupil’s calligraphy
leaving its fingerprint like a meteor in the full moon of my eyes Drenched in the tempest
of eventually entrails Colouring the white void
with the colours of smothering butterflies Sheltering pelts of
velvet from the pockmarked sky Oozing through the pores
in glyphs like cysts in apocalyptic eclipse Brilliance bleeding
through Staining the shades with
crayons upon the mitochondria Dreams awakening with
blind visions Touched in numbness with
mute thunder Black laquear of wax
wanning in the haze of proliferation Schizophrenic embryos
squealing in the regalia of aphrodisia Peeling the cerulean from
the sky Like layers of cake from
the matrix of aether Oasis in burned paper In the wake of
civilization; branching hippocampus anthers of Blossoming gouache of
Gigantomachias turning and tossing in the apostle’s apocrypha Tainted by the mayhem of
placenta In the membrane’s halo Waling into regalia of
swilling trilling guillotines that scream with the fields of Elysium As the asphodel melds in
the gelatin Behind the iris of my
singled mindedness Spiralling kaleidoscopes In the reeling helix of a
phoenix Within visceral chrysalis I will follow; blindly Just you watch me I need a different point
of view; only able to see things my way Eye for an eye Tooth for a smile Crawling through earth Elixirs of Nyx knitted
through the cotton clouds <[(Heaven-bound)]> Among the boughs and
howling of the wind Skinning the fur coat of
every second’s warmth; the hours that flow like gauze in a whirlpool Outstretched crescents
with the momentum of sentinels Dwelling in the yellow
parhelion of skeletons brimming with symmetry My infinite silence upon
infinite silence Infinite black within infinite white Timeless as the chessboard I am disappointed, in the chalk of white In the soot of black Smothered in the covers of colourless butterflies in
the resin of a clementine But it is in my disappointment that I better myself And failure is a road I must cross again With these calloused feet Brushing my pastel against the sunless sky, and; every
crater of this wild moon It never ends, (or it always ends this way) does(n’t) it? Beaten; like a hammer on a nail, like an anorexic
looking at a mirror Again, and again, and again Trying to be better Failing; bent into shape Twisting, transmogrifying, built from spare parts; Love, hate, anger, satisfaction (It could have been me) I had my own brush with Nihilism; And with my knowing (of) it, I became (individually
much) stronger While in knowing it; most others only become blind Now I can finally see [(I don’t want to die just yet, simply remember how to start living
again)] [(Injustice is (an) unavoidable (reality) if you believe in it)] [(Those who have no heart; who lack a pulse)] [(Are a bombshell for)] (Colourless life; stretched out in old photographs) (Cold cellars where footprints linger like tenebrous ink; something,
something lost) It broke them; this world (The way it could have broke[n] me) ([Though/yet] I am no better; I am) (At least; somewhat satisfied) (In knowing; I am still here) (Peering through the glass of a one-way mirror; while they watch me, with
their blind eyes) (Like hands outstretched that can no longer touch, feel, or connect; the
light to them is darkness) (But I see myself; for what I am, [in them]) (A memory; waiting to be forgotten by time) (And a [translater/guide]; for those drunk on the spirits of the dead, without
a sole purpose) (Dipping their feet into the River Styx; testing for warmth; in the
rushing lustre of the waters) (Those who wait at the ends of the earth) (Like a diving board) (Above the churning abyss, beneath) (Who don’t yet have the courage to jump) (Into [endlessness/obscurity]) ([Into] oblivion) ([Into] calm) ([Into] still-frame) (Madness, then order) (And fall; into emptiness) (Just yet) (Where soft voices come to dye the fabric of history [in their creased
watercolours]) (So I take life in my two hands like a baby bird; for them) (What else can I do; but this?) (Like them; I must struggle, persevere) (For beauty/love/myself) [(I must remember how to fly)] <[(Become a monster for the sake, for the existence, of angels)]> [(So there would be some shadow to compare their light to; bright minds
with dark thoughts)] <[(Lost together)]> [({Or/yet} know no better)] <[(There is always another heaven to fall from; to climb)]> <[(Trust me; I know; no better; than this;)]> <[(But I still smile)]> <[(Sometimes)]> <[(Standing in front of the mirror)]> <[(Of a better me)]> <[(Blind to the idiosyncrasies of his own reflection; watching hopeful,
blissfully unhappy)]> <[(And ignorant, so ignorant; like the last flower on a mountainside
before the winter, I am)]> <[(Falling {into stagnancy, into stillness-again})]> -<[(Forgetting the roots that made me; unkillable weed)]>- <[({And/all-because} I don’t, {couldn’t,} care {less})]> -<[(I am me; I am the poetry; and the poetry is me; my own reflection;
dreaming of reality)]>- *-<[({Staring back at me adamantly}, and)]>-* -<[(Intoxicatingly pure)]>-
Part 2
All I Am
I tried to be what {they/you} (always) wanted
me to be, a fool; {Entranced by} my {own} reflection {Caught between somewhere/lost} in
the river Perhaps I was born to drown in memories Perhaps you were right In the end {I/we} {am/are} alone And that means everything {to me} Even {if/when} it doesn’t {We/I} {that still} knew no better Did, {or didn’t} {we/do I still care}? Or am I simply an effigy of memory Or a broken clock Ticking, ticking, ticking into the thicket of the next
moment; Embracing {that/true} nothing{ness}, the
warped image of amorphous form Time, goes on without me {God goes on without me} {And/though I} can no longer dance {with you} Though the music continues; {winding/past/through
me} In the {cavernous/tunnels} of my {deaf} ears I loved once Somewhere in the {rusted/bottomless} {bombshell/chambers}
of {this/my} heart Oh yes Didn’t I/we? {We/I} {who knew no better/unbelievably innocent} That tried, once{full of hope, ^ignorant^, ugly and beautiful} I look at myself again, and cannot recognize my face, Splintered into a million jigsaws littering the room
with Sakura blossoms of gouache polaroid I look at myself, and see you {Fading polaroids smoulder into marigolds} {Somewhere/lost} in my memories {And} I’ve been fighting-alone Against phantoms of the past I {would/should} have
loved Against phantoms of the future Who will only fight me, hate me {for what I am not ^trailing into the night^} With or without victory, lost every since {licking my wounds
hungrily} But it is in the smallest, most infinitesimal
victories; That I find the will to live {Or maybe} lose the will to die Among the moonlight reflected on the river; Romanticizing horizons kaleidoscope in my eyes Everyone I drowned out within the noise of nothing, The sound of no one; the voice of silence But I {don’t surrender/don’t remember/don’t fall/don’t weep/don’t care/don’t-dream} {Do/did/would} you? Come, sit down There is enough {misery/anguish/suffering/saudade} {To feed/for} everyone {here/in this hellish
world} ^Have mine, taste misery^, {Yet/know} I
can only provide {An/one} answer {to/not} the
question {Footprints/linger} on the shoreline (As the waves crash like alabaster tapestries of
gelatinous tweed over them) (As the seagulls perch on the jagged rocks above) (As the people drown in beer) (And thirst for {something/more}) (As the words are rung like ink from the wet Rorschach
of pages, sentencing paper to rot) (They were once, they were) (Men die early, or later, at some point) (Memories die too) (There is little need for memory, little need for
antiquity) (As the waters grope the sands that slip through their
fingers) (As the mountains watch the world melt under a gelato
sun) (As the trees sit cross-legged in golden fields) (As the men of God fumble blindly, collared by their crucifixes) (As the men of {ignorance/isolation/Nihilism}) (Follow the masses into greater ignorance, greater
discourse, their hateful art) (In the castles of mud, in crusted voids of voices) (As the gods fight over {the}-heavens) (As the borderline bears the edge of existence,) (Serrated knifes billow amaryllis like old newspapers;) (Rags of rivers cut from a different cloth;) (Strands of scarves embroidered in turquoise foliage) (Flowers in the dirt, many, among many) (Open hands that cup the grains of sand) (Fists that grasp at the straws of millions) (And God is an abyss mankind has tried to fill with {kindness/faith/love},) (Shallow, hollow of the tree, carving into the arching
escarpment) {Receding, fading into tomorrow’s foreign memory} They were once, they were Dyed in the colours of fall, leaves, petals, curling
up, fetal These {small/fragile/pointless/warped}, wilted, flowers Refuse to die in the mud {Cannot/refuse} to be forgotten Yet cannot be anything, anything other than memory And nothing In the cold frozen ground; buried alive in vinyl
hyacinth In the {winter/river/mud} Reminding me of {you/death} Etched into the canvas with such ferocity, with such
mad anger That I am curious As to how this {madness/chaos/echo}
{dies/ends} How it leaves behind imprinting {Such/a} stillness that once {blossomed/bloomed} chorographical With its clipped wings Outstretched in pointless salvation, In {still-frame/victory} [({Praised/pure} as the moon; wishing to reflect an {angry/empty} sun)] (The trees of the world are heavy with words; their
leaden leaves) (The paragraphs of gods stretch their arms to the sun) [(Endless poem upon endless poem; man {reflects/dreams/bathes})] [(In {violet/violent} {rivers/words})] [(In an avalanche of beer on an asphalt of green;)] [(And all there is, is silence; the slow hands of a {clock/movement}] <[(And there is death; within a colourful life)]> <[ (And new life; within the colours of death, and dirt)]> [(Nails digging into the flesh of a stanza)] (I’m {not/like} {him/that/them/you};) (I am simple another name, in a book of names;
shackled, sentenced) ({Tongue-tied/to} an endless chain of love
letters) <[(That wrote the stars into existence on a black slate)]> <[(That told the tallest lies; tree branches over the moon)]> ({Tormented/incomplete}, lost, trampled on by time, {and/infinitesimal/noiseless}
finite) ({And/I} {refuse/don’t pretend} to be) [({To know})] (Anything better) [({And if I did})] [({Would that mean anything?})] [({Could I fill the hollow of the tree})] ({With my hallow words?}) [(Give {shape/form} to {shapelessness/amorphous}?)] [(Give birth to stillness)] [(Give passivity to time)] [(Let madness and chaos become their own order?)] [(While the whole forest rots)] [(Into warped shadows, cast in iron, their backs arched like tiger cats)] [(Stalking the sun’s rays of light)] [(In darkness)] [(Wandering through a placid image)] [(Cursed by the words that {bind/buried/broken} sentences: {of
chain-linked fence, torn fabric})] (Rags of scarves hanging bristled by the trees peeling like a helix in
cerulean {fields/cathedrals}) [({Drawn/to/these/warped} {empty/vessel’d} {mouths/vows})] _<[(Pulling back pages {like/rose-petals} the skin of an orange)]>_ <[(I tried to be what you always wanted me to be, a fool;)]> <[({Entranced by} my {own} reflection)]> <[({Caught between somewhere/lost} in the river)]> <[(While a whole forest {rots/loves/wilts)]> <[(With{in} me,)]> <[(The black heart)]> <[(The slow crawl of minutes in mute madness as it ripples through my
fingers, onto paper;)]> [(The turn of the hands of time; broken branches of a warbling tree by the
destitute creek, and)] <[(The elevator shaft of my words; twisted arms held by bars of
barbed-wire)]> <[(Stretching on beyond the light of a naked eye’s mirage, watching in
silence)]> <[(And yet I know there is great beauty in this)]> <[(And yet I know of a great exodus in arrival)]> <[(And yet I know a grain of sand could make up the entire coast)]> <[(And yet I know)]> <[(Although I am blind to the light’s shadow)]> <[(I know)]> <[(I have nothing)]> <[(And nothing has me)]> <[(And yet I know better now)]> <[(Nothing;)]> <[(I was born from it; the mother of the turbulent night cries for me
alone; in silence)]> <[(And somehow, within that {echo/reverberating} of silence)]> <[(I never really left)]> <[(Stretched out like a full moon;)]> <[(Yes, somehow in my inebriated sadness, my life)]> <[(I am still here)]> <[(Aren’t I?)]> <[(There’s something wrong with me; isn’t there?)]> <[(I {move/continue/stumble} forward{s})]> <[(And leave only the ripples of time)]> <[(In my wake)]> <[(What can I say?)]> <[(I came to hear the music)]> <[(I came to be{bottomlessly})]> <[(In the echo of an echo-{voiceless/silent/^and-^still})]> <[(And still yet knowing ^{no^ better})]> ^<[(Than but I must)]>^ {And-that}I too; will (eventually) {find/stumble} my
way home somehow, lucid, even)]>^ ^<[(If only in (a){n obscure} memory)]>^ ^<[(But not {now, ephemeral, directionless, entrenched, immovable, not} yet)]>^
Again Passing on my anguish in varicose cherry blossoms; Pollen of andromeda through the polymers of ferns; Ambrosia blooming under emptiness To rot into the dirt like a causeway of jade; Satin alabaster in the dilapidated Rorschach An aspen crashing with sap and molasses
ecclesiastically In spectacular rapturous rapids Gouache of blasphemous pastels Wrapped in the blackest skies Of overlapping masquerading shrapnel In repeating reverberating rhyme in the vineyards of a
single line; Spindling into windowpanes Stained with the grasslands that lasso the crows of a
rainbow; Under the jade maze shade of a deity; The dead moon buried in its lactescent sepulchres Or crescents resurrected in the pestilence; Effigies that wrestle winds in the crevices of the
breeze Weaving the wheezing weaning of elysian empyreans In the ethereal murals And the arras of cardiovascular sashes Worn across the back of every forgotten passage In the ashes of baptism; in the prisms of light Warbling carnally through the marbled stars of
marmalade suede; Like a sable maple leaf falling From the bough in the talons of a flower Melding into Valkyries in the valleys of metallica Malleable cowls that shallow shrouded shadows Shale shawl and balaclavas gathering labyrinths In the transmogrified syncopated bogs of synagogues In the bionic constellations’ oasis Like bioluminescent zephyrs in the threshold of
primordials Folding into origami In the bottomless tsunami of terracotta and mahogany; Polyester vessels in the Nephilim Within the speleothem of the denim Heaven in the corduroy magnolias that coil around the
bowels of amalgam In the children of amaryllis silhouettes That stretch like the hands of a clock And walk the constellations in a frenzy of never
ending; Pretending Armageddon shredding Through the malevolent feather of the setting sun; Poinsettias, rhododendrons winding every iris into
silence; Clockwork, steampunk monks of disfigured disfunction; Stumbling drunk and, never getting that far in life,
anyways; The knife of a lightning strike; Cycling into the rifle of a stream; Shooting blank stairs into the blackly blanketing
infinite empty; Wrenched from the unentered penitentiary; Momentum brought to stillness, Like the frills of a wilted bougainvillea; Flannel unravelling into scattered dreams Like ecclesiastical scaffolding in a sky without a
God; To unwind our own facade; From the bark of a maple tree; Acres of lakes baked into hatred sacred Sacrosanct anchoring itself’s in valves of parhelion; Prairies of barren trees; leaves weaving together Into grass tapestries that walk the phosphorus Of every droplet through the dew of silver pews Oozing between the nucleus; Rouge and fuchsia lucid as the brushstrokes bruschetta In the chapels tide of taffeta’s bride File into the lilacs’ formaldehyde diaphragm; Amethyst whispering in the Sanskrit calypso Hieroglyphics twisted in the midst of Icarus Eclipsing lithium in the malting sulphur ponds Andromeda singing into stygian; Forever; budding into sunlight, Nebulous tenebrous tendrils of yellow interstellar
elegies; Flower petals threading through serenity Memories of skeleton melodies, meadows that bevel In the twisting thistlecrucifixion Of every incandescent second; Bent out of dimensions in its porpoise proportion; Contorting into porcelain orbs of orphans’
metamorphosis In the mooring film, chlorophyll vermilion; Spilling cerulean hills of basilicas Interconnected bethels of echoes that stretch out from
the balconies of barbed wire; Across the gouache of a painted cross; Into the balloon of a full moon’s maroon; Moving into stillness; soothing in its brilliance; Spindling into the skin of a linden; blooming
Neptunium, Behind the stencilled gate of a pencil’s penitentiary; I hide behind the roar of a sentence born from a
maelstrom of words; A sparrow born without any wings; Bronze prosthetic appendages, Trying to touch the custard sun; Falling out of place; the blur between memory and
fiction; I see myself, see you, for the first time; again, and
again, Like an orgasm, Spiralling vinyl papyrus down into the depths of a
precipice, The kiss of an abyss; folding back the paper of the
page, And starting over again; on the bank of instinct; Between the thoughtful sands, And the waves paving theirselves braiding coral Into boreal forests carved from the core of a
love-starved world; Castles of krakens and astronauts blossoming
philosophically In the gouache of phosphorus; Chapels of apple trees reefs of velvet leaf; Weeping and torn for forevermore; Grimoires of arms marring the collage of a strawberry
marionette An incendiary carriage between the bars of a carnival; Carousels and ferris wheels like a disembodied obelisk
stranded amidst the trees; A bangled branch outstretched among the breeze; In the slumber of hummingbirds; In the umbrage of bumblebees; In the stutter of a butterfly; third eyes wide; Like the rumble of thunder in the budding summer’s
coming tide; Sheets of ether wreaths ripple on the vine; (These lines stretching arm to arm, open wide with tie-dye twine;) (Pencilled ventricles in the amaryllis’ ventriloquism;) (Wyverns of iron flame;) (Weaving evaporating tapestries wrapped in saplings seed) (On the sapphire horizons of ivory Gaia;) (Of a valley of sunflowers capsizing irises in rising tide of a lilac
sun’s pandemonium;) (In the precipice of exodus;) (Amber camouflaging mahogany in Autumn’s choreography)
And I will be left behind In the summer lights of opal, golden
Opal Marigolds violas of corduroy Exfoliating creations’ lace of scintillation; Primordial void in the core recoiling Polaroid accordion corridors Floral metamorphosis (in the) ore
of a chlorophyll orb Against (the) shores
of borealis; Acres (of) deteriorating glaciers Wraiths (of) lacquered
Himalayas mosaicked (In the) hectares of spectres (in the) orioles (The) chord (of a) borderline; Between (the) twine (of) papyrus
islands (in the) paisley hurricanes eye transmogrified; Spiralling eyes unwinding (the) wildfire
lilacs Papyrus folding (into the) origami
tsunamis (Of the) oceans motionless Crocheted (in the) bay (of an) everglade; Ravens serrated (with the) glow
(of a) tornado Moulding (into) opals
encroaching O the pilgrimage of the willows’ silver river Styx; Twisting (like a) glyphs’
repetition (in the) subsequent lithium Coming to grips with the viscera of a wicked eclipse Rippling from the tip, from the edge (To the) thin thicket of ellipses Where the sun shines like a dim lamp Over (the) slathering pomegranate Pattern Saturn’s gavel of lapis shrapnel asphodels Avenues (of the) dead; Stitched with the ricocheting thread (A) leatherback grappling with asters (In the) lasso (of) castaways
sailing (In the) pale opal (of an) azalea; Stretching creasing lactescent dodecahedrons (Like a) phoenix (of) graffitied
arboretums White against (a canvas of) black Where (the worlds) Damascus alabaster smothers hummingbirds smouldering Watercolour crash(ed under) covers
crumpled pages Waging war (in) coral
porcelain orchards amorphous Coloured collapsing (like a) brass
Rorschach; (Like a) blade (of) grass
becomes a tapestry; (In the) meadow of yellow; (In an) alabaster masquerade; (An) obelisk (of) mausoleums Peeled (from the) helix of the ceiling; Cathedrals (in the) monoliths
(of) throbbing mitochondrial kilometres (That) twist (in the) whispering
(of the) abyss; Crystalline wickers bent (into) shadow; (The) cowl (of a) flame
disembowelling (a) flower; Malleable boughs trellises (of) shrouded
Valhalla, (Into the) valleys (of) mercury
earth; Threading Serengeti’s (in) ebbing
flow (of) ebony; Swathed (in the) peridot
gouache (Of) gelatinous rapids passing (Like) sap (in the) Damascus
molasses; Crashing (with the) saplings
(of) taffeta Basking (under) apple
trees terpsichorean Serpentine (as the) winding
(of a) river Slithering ribbons [of a poltergiest’s
kite] (through the) snaking aether (of) moons; (With the) wrath (of a) Lovecraftian
fractal pastel; Rorschach daffodil (in the) frilly
amaryllis (Like) ecclesiastical blackberries; Crocheted (in the) maze
(of a) clay mosaic; Shattered (by the) amber
sun; Spun together (in the) hardening
leather Evangelical emerald (in the) voyage
(of) magnolias; Pouring (through the) meteors (That) bloom melding velvet cellos (Of) [trellises] parhelion’d
melody; Embroidered foliage (in the) forest
(of a) cornea; Outgrowing (the) corona
rouge ambrosia (of the) rising sun; Unravelling (in the) chasms
(of) summer sky; Binding wyverns (in) ivory
twine; Jailed [ukuleles] halos (behind the) daisies
veil (of) a lackadaisical maelstrom; Hazel (off the) rails (of) azaleas; Sable tornadoes gale marmalade Against tempest (the) magenta
fence (of) wafers (of) [dilapidated] maples gilded (in) silver; Flaying pale (against the) opalescent
crescent; Clandestine (to) evanescence; Pressed against (the) flesh (in every) brushstrokes; Blessed (by the) incandescent
cessation; Raking (the) desiccated oasis free (from the) fallen
trees; Columns (in the) pollen
breeze; (In the) camouflaging mahogany’s choreography Terracotta mirage (in) champagne
camouflage Andromeda (like a) collage
(of) bottomless bulbous waterways Bulging embalming overflowing Frayed (in the) glazed suede (of a) ukulele; The [rock]face that launched a thousand ships; (A) balaclava’s ravelled sprouting (out of the) shroud
(of) pastels Melting (in) velvet
mandalas knit together (Into the) quilt (of) bougainvilleas (In) villages (of) slithering
capillaries (In) primrose oceans between (the) seas (of) terpsichorean; (In) cyan dandelions, (the) formaldehyde
(of your) kaleidoscope iris; Winding itself (into a) hollow
bell; Waiting (for the) last
knell’s parhelion; Mauve illuminating (the) bioluminescent
(of a) well-kept zephyr; Stepping over marigold primordials Mooring incorporeal (to the) porcelain
amorphous Orifices’ calypso; crypts of whispers Cisterns (of) lithium
bristling nickel Quicksand amethyst (under the) lattice Cavernous amber [lamps] (of a) candlewick; Dismantled (of its) antlers Spangled (like a) lantern
(in the) lance (of) chrysanthemum; Blanketing, chanting (to the) church
(of a) mercury birch Serpent among (the) dandelions’
seeds; Collapsing (in the) scaffolding’s
tapestry; Brushstrokes of bristled bark Tar scarves (of) woollen
lindens (and) symmetries; Meadows (of) arpeggios
smouldering Cold among gouache prophets phosphorus; Knotted cogs bronze monoliths; He told me, there is nothing new under the sun; I asked him, is there not a difference, In shades of grey; in a bouquet of flowers; In a meadow before the setting sun, Shedding its Armageddon? Asking for a unique spin on mediocrity; When we are only colourless chalk; Written into figure (sprigging calligraphy) in blackberry
fabric night; (Sprouting belladonna) rippling between reality and
fiction; Flying simply with our pair of open arms; Carving names into boughs’ bouquet, The branches; as they reach their tipping point; Waiting (for us) to fall from grace; Walking off the edge of mediocrity, Into the abyss of creativity, emotion, image,
imagination; Messiah to our own bored curiosity; Watching the mockingbirds as they settle in their
trees; Where we lie, beneath like the pale entrails of a
maelstrom’s gale, In God’s shadow Reflecting blindly, mangled moon’s grooves Craters cradling daisies’ polymerization In the pale earth’s mirky cursive Even time
Can be a poet
© 2022 R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Author's Note
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3 Reviews  Last Updated on November 13, 2022 Author
R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Burlington, Halton, CanadaAboutMost of my poems can be differing lengths depending on the time you want to spend reading them. You can avoid reading anything brackets, or read it all. If you want an in-between, you can read only th.. more..Writing
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