writer

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

Synthesis

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

Live, let-
The cinders and radiation
Fall incorrigibly,
Coherently with you

Yours, arranged
As a demeanor of
Dimming lights
If magnetic symphonies
Shall run electronic allegros
You will dance, repulsed
Against the gripped apertures, tight

Call, to tarnish
The jesters no longer
Fool energy into matter
Life seems, it does
Categorical improvisation
To a bed and whispers
Of rusting, hearty sanction

Mine, I possess
The crackling endeavors
Flouting mystical beauty,
An eye for a horizon
With blind entropy
A morbid, poignant sermon

Peripheral spies
And embedded lies
Play ancestral decryption,
Dog bait and doll parts
Third against many an alibi

Henson screams in Gaelic jargon,
Strings and abodes
Within natural jurisprudence
Flouted an abscess to epicentral vision,
There I was
Comfort, in the deposition of a cauldron

I’ve lost the rhythm
For associative extermination
The crevices of your iris,
And my lies and premise
Fall into tempt, seduction

One should dream
That two could ponder
Facing the anomorphic world,
Plum-pod, Bohmian and aether-

Only together.

Ode to a Symphony

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

The crisp’d innings of
Lust, listless and longevity
Held its own death
Against the filter of brevity.

Thus beheld,
The power of sin and causality
Sanctioning the lines,
Cataclysmic lies
A rouge for intention, out of intention.

In Spring the winds
Hold a density smote
With vintaged irony,
The pull of the heavens
Lighting the conversations
Of enmity and forgery,
An impression to behold.

Has my word
Turned into the ashes
Of Alexandria’s standing demise
While the age between 
Your sacred eyes
Turn into the gauntlet,
Promising luxury and conspiracy-
A sheet of tattered paper
Lying within net worth,
And Midas’ money

I shall warn you,
I hold the fruit.
The lactose, the sulfuric acid-
Lace my edifice as I
Strut around the hallway of heaven,
An intermission between
The snake and the bush.

Childlike

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

Hold me in the crass reverence
Of saints, knighted sheep
With my blood and bones
Against the same duvet
Blanketing the game of thrones

Fool me, with confirming identity
Each particulate trajectory-
Leaves my bottom lip
Waiting for wave-punctuation
It’s all a conscientous function

To have my ankles
Roll against the motor
Of bandwagons, and jesters

The de facto lineage
Permeating the twist, lurge and go-go
Before I embark 
On the inertia of my sanity
Would you promise to hold me?

Enlightened

Posted on by Atlas Zeitgeist

Elusive, gorgeous and aerial wings

Probe the vast multitude of

Your courageous swings, sin and prim-

Never to find matter in this viscosity,

A permeable farce on the contrary

To ingest a taste, a whim of life

Sparkling, yet decomposing

The compass of cell and dust