Abstracts

Black and white’s
gotten so in
coherent, I think
there might
be room for
gray.

It’s everywhere-
in contrasts,
foreground
and its shades,
from every angle
its ingrained
itself in
the very DNA
of order.

Try to
classify it;
there’s too many
colors in
the way.

Attempt to pacify
them and you’ve
declared
a war
on shape.

From there,
circles
crumble into
abstracts
and squares become
the plane

on which
we are turned inside
out, and

subjected
to their
fear of change.

Once gaseous skies
now flow and
form a sea.

The north we knew is
all but dead
or confused.

This vacuum makes
up the most
fulfilling place
I’ve ever had the pleasure

of standing in.

The definition of
happiness is
my Bethlehem
of rage.

Any conversation
regarding time
is about ten
years

too late.

The old sound
tracks experiment
with silence.

Inner Peace
shared one
kiss with
violence

only to
discover she
had fallen for its
taste.

We’re far too
late to
save her,
and have to
pray that her creator
has a better life
in mind for
her after
death.

Hopefully the first was not a waste.

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