Anabasis of the Chiaroscuro
The sun-gnawed frieze of morning,
A palimpsest of jade and rust,
Yields the ghost of a helix, twisting
From the bone-shard of a lost trust.
The gnomon of my grief
Casts a shadow of fractured time,
Where the liminal and the lief
Perform a charlatan pantomime.
We are all hierophants of silence,
Initiates of a mute eclipse.
The celerity of our deference
Stipples our tongues with ellipsis.
Let the cincture of this moment break
On the anvil of a forgotten plea.
A carillon of anhedonic ache
For the simulacrum of liberty.
The hypostatic union of dread
And the phosphene flicker of hope—
A palpebral scrim of the unsaid,
The vertigo on the tightrope.
So, let the carious teeth of time
Gnaw on the sinew of the day.
The anabasis of the sublime
Is the only path, the only way.
Nocturne for a Failing Constellation
The parallax of our sorrow finds
Its apotheosis in the darkling glass.
A lexicon of scattered minds,
A fugue state of the moribund mass.
The stars, a tessellation of ennui,
Whisper the calculus of decay.
Each lumen-choked infinity
Recedes into the gloaming grey.
Do not speak of the celestial spheres,
Of the firmament and its pristine sheen.
The ephemera of our mortal fears
Is the only truth we have ever seen.
The ouroboros of the night,
The serpentine coil of despair,
Consumes the last of the fading light,
A vacuum in the star-choked air.
The cosmos is a broken thing,
A mosaic of burnt-out suns.
The silent canticle of suffering
Is the only song that ever runs.
So, let the aetherial silence fall,
The entropy of the soul's design.
For we are nothing, and that is all,
A flicker on the edge of the divine.
Epilogue of the Sclerotic Dialectic
The hypogeum of yesterday's discourse,
The catabasis of the morning's fret,
Unspools a skein of moribund remorse
Where every synapse holds a derelict debt.
The scrim of thought, a synecdoche
For the parataxis of the soul,
Breaks on the littoral of apathy,
And makes the fractured spirit whole.
We are but caryatids of a broken frieze,
Supporting a firmament of glass.
The telos of our fleeting unease
Is the anamorphosis of the mass.
Let the celerity of our self-denial
Be a palimpsest of the fading day,
A cenotaph for the trial
Of our slow, sclerotic decay.
Soliloquy of the Astrolabe
The astrolabe's reticule,
A grid of silent, burning stars,
Charts the coordinates of a null,
The trajectory of our scars.
The cosmos, a broken kaleidoscope,
Refracts the light of a forgotten creed.
The hypostatic union of hope
And the anhedonic, sterile seed.
Do not speak of the celestial spheres,
Of the firmament's pristine sheen.
The ephemera of our mortal fears
Is the only truth we have ever seen.
The parallax of our sorrow finds
Its apotheosis in the darkling glass,
A lexicon of scattered minds,
A fugue state of the moribund mass.
Aubade for the Hypnagogic Threshold
The clotted lumen of the gloaming,
A palimpsest of ash and dew,
Yields to a phantasmagoric foaming,
The ectoplasmic, nascent hue.
The chthonic hum of the unheard,
A kerygma of what's to come,
Entwines the syzygy absurd,
The lexicon of the kingdom dumb.
We are but acolytes of the penumbra,
Initiates of a crepuscular code.
The anamnesis of the cumbersome
Unburdened by a carnal ode.
So let the peripeteia of the soul
Unfurl on the caesura of the day.
The hypostatic union of the whole
In the aporia of the way.
Canticle of the Synesthetic Sun
The aphelion of the heart's dismay,
A parallax of fractured grace,
Explodes in synesthetic display,
The chromesthesia of a final place.
The eidolon of a fading gleam
Colludes with the haptic memory,
A hypnopompic, fevered dream,
The prosody of catastrophe.
The carious teeth of time
Gnaw on the sinew of the day.
The hypogeum of the sublime
Is the only path, the only way.
The noumenal touch of the sun,
A telos of the soul's design,
Recedes from a battle won,
A whisper on the edge of the divine.
Liturgy for the Absent Ephebe
The caesura of the hour,
A carious interregnum,
Unspools a skein of sour
Lachrymose dictum.
The parallax of the soul,
A hypostatic disarray,
Makes the fractured spirit whole,
In a liminal display.
The gnomon of our grief,
A lexicon of scattered minds,
Casts a shadow, a fleeting lief,
Where the blind leads the blind.
The ouroboros of the night,
The serpentine coil of despair,
Recedes from a fading light,
A vacuum in the star-choked air.
The cosmos is a broken thing,
A mosaic of burnt-out suns,
The silent canticle of suffering
Is the only song that ever runs.
So, let the aetherial silence fall,
The entropy of the soul's design.
For we are nothing, and that is all,
A flicker on the edge of the divine.
The anamnesis of the sun-choked frieze,
A chthonic memory,
Colludes with a somnolent unease,
The prosody of catastrophe.
We are but palimpsests of glass,
Caryatids of a shattered rite,
Witnesses of the failing mass,
The absence of eternal light.
Prolegomenon of the Demented Gnomon
Anamnesis of the Obol
The haptic memory of the sun-starved frond,
A chiaroscuro of a fading name,
Recalls the chthonic, broken bond,
The anamnesis of the final game.
The peripeteia of the day's last breath,
A synesthetic, mournful cry,
Explodes in the anhedonic death
Of a broken, somnolent sky.
We are but cenotaphs of the lost,
A lexicon of scattered grief.
The hypostatic, mortal cost
Of a carillon of fleeting lief.
So let the palimpsest of the heart break
On the anvil of a forgotten plea.
The obol for the charlatan's sake,
The anabasis of catastrophe.
Diurnal of the Parallax Soul
The aphelion of the heart's dismay,
A parallax of fractured grace,
Unspools a diurnal, failing ray,
The aporia of a final place.
The eidolon of a fleeting gleam
Colludes with the carious touch of time,
A hypnopompic, fevered dream,
The stuttering of a broken chime.
The gnomon of our cosmic fear
Casts a shadow of fractured trust,
Where the noumenal and the near
Converge in a halo of golden dust.
So let the sclerotic dialectic wane,
The parallax of the soul's design,
For we are nothing, and that is our pain,
A flicker on the edge of the divine.
Anachronic Fugue
The catoptric pane of conscience,
a cracked kaleidoscope of jade,
reflects the ephemera of semblance,
a pastiche of a truth decayed.
The ciliary flutter of a dream,
a hypnagogic, fevered plea,
unspools a desiccated stream
in the hypogeum of what's to be.
The telos of a fractured thought,
the anamnesis of a mute eclipse,
is a kerygma that we have sought
with fractured, anhedonic lips.
A carillon of shattered sighs
marks the peripeteia of the day.
The noumenal in mortal eyes,
the parallax of the final say.
Sestina for a Broken Cartography
The gnomon casts its sclerotic arc
across the chart of fractured time,
a cartography of the dark,
a lexicon of broken rhyme.
The ouroboros of the night,
a serpentine, perpetual fear,
recalls the fading of the light,
the absence of the lucid tear.
We navigate by constellations lost,
the aphelion of a shattered heart,
the hypostatic, mortal cost,
the aporia of a brand new start.
A palimpsest of the fading day,
a cenotaph of silent dread,
shows us the only, final way,
the empty promise of the dead.
The telos of a fractured thought,
the anamnesis of a mute eclipse,
is a kerygma that we have sought
with fractured, anhedonic lips.
A carillon of shattered sighs
marks the peripeteia of the day,
The noumenal in mortal eyes,
the parallax of the final say.
The catoptric pane of conscience,
a cracked kaleidoscope of jade,
reflects the ephemera of semblance,
a pastiche of a truth decayed.
The ciliary flutter of a dream,
a hypnagogic, fevered plea,
unspools a desiccated stream
in the hypogeum of what's to be.
The gnomon casts its sclerotic arc
across the chart of fractured time,
a cartography of the dark,
a lexicon of broken rhyme.
The ouroboros of the night,
a serpentine, perpetual fear,
recalls the fading of the light,
the absence of the lucid tear.
The aphelion of the heart's dismay,
a parallax of fractured grace,
unspools a diurnal, failing ray,
the aporia of a final place.
The eidolon of a fleeting gleam
colludes with the carious touch of time,
a hypnopompic, fevered dream,
the stuttering of a broken chime.
The chthonic hum of the unheard,
a kerygma of what's to come,
entwines the syzygy absurd,
the lexicon of the kingdom dumb.
So let the peripeteia of the soul
unfurl on the caesura of the day.
The hypostatic union of the whole
in the autopoiesis of decay.
The Autopoiesis of the Failing Heart
Lament for a Syzygy
The carious teeth of time,
a mandible of glass and rust,
gnaw on the sinew of the sublime,
the testament of transient trust.
The anamnesis of the sun,
a chthonic flicker of green,
recalls a syzygy undone,
a hypostatic, vanished sheen.
The kerygma of the fallen star,
a prosody of fractured light,
explodes across a psychic scar,
a parallax of spectral night.
The telos of a broken prayer,
a cenotaph of failing grace,
is the autopoiesis of despair,
the aporia of a final place.
Obol for the Catabasis
The peripeteia of the falling leaf,
a palimpsest of jade and dread,
unspools a skein of moribund grief
from the silence of the unsaid.
The gnomon of my muted cry
casts a shadow of broken time,
where the liminal and the lie
perform a phantasmagoric mime.
The hypogeum of a stolen kiss,
a fugue state of the failing heart,
is the celerity of the abyss,
the dissolution of all art.
So let the sclerotic dialectic wane,
the carillon of anhedonic ache,
the catabasis of the final pain,
for the anabasis of the lake.
Continue (2022) - IMDb
Elegy for the Hyphenated Self
The peripeteia of the morning’s fret,
a sclerotic, liminal grace,
unspools a desiccated debt,
the hypogeum of a final place.
The chthonic hum of the unheard,
a carillon of what's to come,
entwines the syzygy absurd,
the autopoiesis of the kingdom dumb.
We are the obol of a futureless rite,
the palimpsest of a fading name.
The astrolabe of our fractured light,
the kerygma of the failing game.
So let the caesura of the heart break
on the carious teeth of a forgotten plea.
A diurnal, anhedonic ache,
the anamorphosis of catastrophe.
Noctilucent Aubade
The catoptric pane of the fleeting gleam,
a hypnopompic, fevered art,
reflects the anachronic stream
in the parallax of the broken heart.
The eidolon of a silent sigh,
a prosody of stolen thought,
colludes with the numinous lie
the soul in its aporia sought.
The celerity of the soul's decay
is a tessellation of muted dread.
The palpebral scrim of the fading day
is the syntax of the unsaid.
So let the gnomon of our pain
cast a shadow of fractured time,
the nocturnal, failing rain,
the stuttering of a broken rhyme.
Continue (2022) - IMDb
Anaphoric Threshold
The hypnagogic murmur of the chthonic fray,
a palimpsest of ash and nascent dread,
unspools the autopoiesis of the day,
a lexicon of all the unsaid.
The carillon of a forgotten plea,
a synesthetic, somnolent chime,
is the celerity of the entropy,
the parallax of fractured time.
We are but cenotaphs of a lost syzygy,
a numinous, anhedonic gleam.
The peripeteia of catastrophe,
a hypostatic, fevered dream.
So let the astrolabe of the soul break
on the carious, fractured bone,
the aphelion of the heart's ache,
the absence of a final drone.
Katabasis in Ochre and Umber
The ochre sun, a cataract on glass,
etches a diurnal of slow decay.
The katabasis of the failing mass
is the aporia of the only way.
The gnomon of our grief, a twisted arc,
plots a trajectory of falling stars.
Each lumen-choked infinity of dark
recalls the lineage of our scars.
The catoptric pane of thought, a screen,
reflects the anachronic, bitter lie.
The eidolon of the things we've seen
is a kerygma written on the sky.
So let the sclerotic dialectic end,
the hypogeum of all we've known,
a fusillade of dreams we can't unbend,
a requiem of bone on bone.
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