Underneath the anger, there are tears. Beneath the fury, there is hurt, a river
of affliction -the day that possibility evaporated. I knew, the moment
it was gone. Telos obsured, like a mist, had left me.
Frost in February, morning at the local coffee house, perseverating, sedate
in privatized, cogitations – certainty dissolves into irony, the transient
collective with predictable cadence and singular objective. Borrowed
energies – preferred anesthetic in defiance of the placid, quotidian horror.
Angst wrapped in skin, clothed in remorse, like a muslin coat unable
to keep me warm, the palette of truculence, dislocated savant,
with guarded aversion – faces enucleating in tacit harmony, the muted tragedy
of the forgotten.
Yoked, the metaphorical satchel, freighted with the sentient debris, sifting
the fuckage, memoirs of failure, privation of venture and honor, objectified as
mere portent. [Existence] – the daily riot, becomes the necessary crucible.
Dissonance and detachment resonate the cultural banality, [being] displaced by
icon; [branding], ideas about ideas, life several times removed,
emblem over essence.
Existential renegade, exploiting counter intuitive, the paradigmatic prodigal,
favor squandered, in the absonant passage, bearing fruit of the undone.
Bones of contention lament, interminably, like a false friend, present in absence,
perceived in the lack, subtraction, slip-stream – the disheveled
palaver of the broken.
Acutely self-referential, misery enfleshed, its own reward, a post-war
discontent inhabiting sorrow, compressed and narrow, begetting
apathy in springtime.
Commodity of youth, the currency of beauty – permuted, commerce of the
ethereal and diaphanous. Human caprice, post-modern fog,
the flattened self,
The enemy of us is us, drowning in the decorum of narcissism.
The fattened calf,
immolating on the sword of autonomy.
Recycled grief, a recursive loop of gestating thoughts, marinating fluidly
within the interpretive grid. Confessional cyber community – exposed wounds
and concrete suffering, abstracted from virtual solidarity, refracted through
a reductive sentimentality, maybe they will ‘like’ it.
Iconoclast in exile, inhaling the incense of barrenness, surrounded by synoptic
drivel in understated – present tenses – alight in the now, axial axioms of the privileged,
who genuflect to the god of unfettered freedom.
Peripatetic intervals of isolation, self-imposed, hidden in a sanctuary of
derision, colliding with immutable otherness, the waters of chaos, calm. The
proleptic display, announcing eschatology. An ancient text written on the interior
expressed in myth and narrative the courier. The carnal and cerebral
arise, rightly flourishing.
Sense thresholds stirring, surprise and turbulence, reverberations of altered
domains merging – the temporal and ubiquity, the indissolubly resplendent
inversion – the invisible made visible. Opaque intrigues subsumed into the
balm of reconciliation – the first shall be last…
©2012 W.S. Warner