poem

For Sale

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

I am not the people’s favorite
I have played the paper and the harlot
I parsed through shimmer and scraps,
I have found no peace within

They marked my exit astray
Spaces between my freedom
My ankles marked at bay
Friction, indignation
Stripped of a better salutation

I placed a dime and a diamond
I knew it was arm’s length in width
I figured superiority was in decline
I packed my bags in the climate

From a contortionist to an auctionee,
As a mystery to the auctioners
Analogous to a clock running off ’99
Digitized in 1080 pixels per hour
Ripened, ripped, ghastly and skinned
Flesh on a whim

I wandered through wonder
I spoke to the echos in the wind
I gestured to the birds
I knew I did not have semantic versatility

Pouring a tune for the masters
Trailing my needles for sleeves of grip
Hers is a copper pill, or two
One finger down the linea negra
Just a nomadic or two
Three trinklets for a better virtue

I threw the plates in formation
I knew of reprimand’s horizon
I feared none of the waves at bay
I kissed all survival away

Yesterday

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

I’m feelin’ vindictive
You ain’t passin’ on my streets
Cozy sleepin’ on my needs
The code vindictive
Nobody’s preaching for the preacher
Lost my hath damn teacher

This ain’t no lost mystery had I
Forged the cacophony, messy
Painted crimson on blue veiled tiles
My reason’s vain in the name of treason
Castrated lies, reformulation

Holding the peace of you
Strewn piece in you
My words don’t speak of you
You, you’re an alien-you

I’m seething vindictive
For the times my rhythm was blown
In the line between me and sky
That was never forlorn

Bound

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

I hold to no latency
The world is far ahead,
Against me
My colour and hue
My spectrum
In ideology
As per commission,
My fantasy of strength
In a throne, of a prayer
Except me

The wandering body
Fathomed through charges,
My will has been chained
Freedom fronted by a mist
I hum in no tone,
But a shared desire
Fantasizing, yearning
Meeting fresh concrete
Hugging the dirt of my knees
As I should be

I am no human,
Of ripening humanity
Fastened upon me
No fashions of brethren
Playing curtail
As I face the awakening,
An abyss eclipses me
Numbers, ciphers
Seeming to define me
Mourning an impurity
Goodbye, anarchy

Tapestry

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

Sworn into the vein
Of a broken tendon
And the convex mirror
Held her death elegant
For her placenta
Waxed lyrical

Where life was once
A quantum fluctuation
In the same field,
Crimson pathology
Ran comfort through
Sinuous discredition
Once a passion-
Twice a sensation
Thrice, demolition

As her cranium sinks
Like the decadence
You ooze out of her
Density’s prowess
Spins filth into cleanliness
A fractal cranium
To purge your sins
The lighted horizon
Of a pigmented talisman

It swings in serum
Hugging the flesh
Thinned to the marked
Treasure of suffocation
Anatomy, soon elucidates
The system of a
Subset after potential

To say that axioms
Fail the malignancy
Would be to christen
The sensuality of infancy
Held, against
The compass point
Who am I to hold
Fragments in wabi-sabi

Embed me, daddy
Sew me into your
Ruptured fantasies
If Oedipus hadn’t fed you well
You could feed off me
My existence is null
Nothing but bleak patriarchy

Badan

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

Prerogatives, parse
Through the antimony
A nerve cell flounders through
Cerebral, visceral, choral-
With acoustic resonance
To purge the wilting petal

 
Filth bellows
Itself on oxidation
Choirs of anger,
Invisible to spatial imaging
A pragmatic presentism
Holding youth together,
As it bleeds crimson
Unknown to the sky
In the aerial abyss,
A stroke or drip of
Cellular secretion

The cerebrum strays
A centimeter away
From the cerebellum’s
Enigmatic catharsis,
An electrode light
To spark the bliss
In an intestinal plight
For the organs of the abyss
Seem to growl

In the hunger of midnight

With the horizons
Contorted
To peruse dawn
In a satellite
For parities and topologies,
Beyond
The resonance of
Nomenclature
Rings each Sunday
Veins tied
To the mark of tablature

Silence is the aether
Of the
Meticulous Triton
Who lays a deaf eye
To the harmonious ear
Patenting within
Reality and lullaby
A pulsation
Against the allegro,
Allegory and chiaroscuro
It comes
To spite

In the hunger of the midnight

Bodies, strewn
Dead and alive
Carnal shows the epitome
For an electron
Is not the source of light
Gore forlorns
As his fingers run
Through the rust
In my tomb of metal
Oh how it seems
In a sea of mobile electrons
Quantum fluctuations

In the hunger
Of the middle
Straddling the Perimeter

Between day
And Night

Trajectory Iris

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

I’ve doused my symbols
In action, in perturbation
An act for the violet skies
Amethyst, riding through
One, too many of an alibi

Would I ache again
For the taste of nothing
To stare into the windows
Ad infinitum ad nauseam
And crave for hosted sight

My fingers re-enact
The crevices of yesteryear
And I’ve torn your walls,
To gorge on Wiccan plaster
How much is left of you?

An avatar, for a whisper
A step into anti-aether
Reality seems cogent,
For the time that frays
In diasporas and multitudes
Of shards and photonic injections

Time moves forward,
As far as thermal propagation
Plays with the entanglement
Of a photon at a distance
Till’ then, I suppose
Shall my fervor stand crippled

For I would want nothing
Other than the taste of everything
Ruptured and bruised,
By the sanction of a whisper
Nothing but the
Thought of you

The Palette Of The Horizon

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

Give me Zenith,
In my weary and dreary hands
Caught against the stream
Of neural, neurotic paths
Intertwined with bestiality

Blue, azure
The mystic two
In youth I find
The pigment of you
Of the men I have brewed
Doused in crimson, with their
Concentrated morning dew

With the sunset against my shoulders
The world should not
Seem as it were the
Battlefield in amber
While chiaroscuro coins
The pasteur in pastel
A mark of heist
For the commercial magazine

Proactive

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

Oh how they bore

A contagious anthem

To look at the parcel

Stranded in the alley,

Straight to the eye

With a ginger gestation

And aim of

Compensation

For the words unsung

In a symphonic incubator

To find meaning in

The reds across their minute cells

Diplomatic and supercilious

To lie on an anarchists’s sentiment

And play with the pleasure

Of biting the lexical rib

Into the open word

Of powers and parades

A simple ”Fuck you”.

Nuances Of A Baked Suicide

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

God is alive, God is dead

She reaps her nestled maternity

In a wilting flowerbed

With the same spirals

Across, within, forged thighs

 

God is a nuke, God is a fugitive

There is a needle

That halts on no whim

Against the periodic altar

Of tar, brick and penicillin

 

God is an angel, God is the devil

We rest our sentience

To the cacophony of the night

In utero, we find

A parasite

Carbon Breath

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

Singular ideologies castrate its own whim,
Greetings down the hall
And the sinuous prerogative
Fall deeper in alimony
To glue frayed spines, in a regressed whim

 

Catatonic, catatonic
The chimes of solicited demons
Crash against the chaos of colliding meteors
Burning the stars, cooling the flames
It works on rye,
Wheat and congenital blame

 

While I sneak a beam
With the same viscosity
As your ripened rouge
Oh how, my delicate curtained-

 

Mismatched lies
Would you
Make it touch to savour-
I’ve dollars and dimes
To refute surreptitious crime

 

With palms and ridges
Your credit history
Outlined the obesity of my matrimony
While I stay ironic,
Your disgust has led onto
The pinks that once led my
Life and heart chronic

 

And here I say
Distinction
Is no heresy
For I’ve doused
The 8-month foetus
In constant mockery