Dexterous Finesse

Coy tidings spoke in riddles,
line modesty with zeal.
Verve with the gait of a seraph.
Pacing through this minute foyer,
flushed with the dregs of descent.
Ecstasy asphyxiating lungs of accolade.
The schism provoking ersatz exasperation,
with proclivity shrouding your guise.
Buried with voracity.

Open

Apprehension conglomerated with disquietude.
Breathing down throats.
Parked cars in leery lots,
while magnanimous headlights cast caliginous silhouette's upon ones conception,
blinding cognizance.
Touching desire gently enough not to wake the colossus.
Veiled in chains,
and burned to the ground,
before the brood abscond through the conduit.

Subsequential Lament

Patch the threshold.
Force feed pretense through a ballerina dance floor facade.
Addressed with elegance,
condemn those unfit to walk.
I grace the floor with my nose.
Altruism on all fours.
Antediluvian postcards with no connotation,
adrift in a quandary of repugnancy.
Dead letters.
The irrevocable mirage tastes of qualm ambition,
drifting from the basilica to this scarecrow acropolis,
only to coalesce with adulation,
converge with sycophancy,
and asphyxiate,
with desire.
Caulk the escape route.

Vexation

Choking on tribulation from the pernicious dissection,
as an effluvious stench reeks through the foraminate organ grinder,
pin sync with the beating of a heart.
Two bit pacemaker on the fritz.
This purulent machine put through the washer again.
Ulcerated vowels puncture cogitation,
swathed in tones of the tempest that softly ravage the furrow.
A harbinger of fornication,
untold by the sagacious gentleman waiting for his luck to run out.
Your kismet has been told.
Contagion has been consigned.
Adjudication set for despondency,
until the leaves blossom and fall,
and leave you,
breathless.

Eviction

Casting gregarious intention on a self righteous blasphemer,
and selling his soul to the lowest bidder.
Draped in an intangible gown of chains,
worn at the sullen dinner party,
fit for the fisting couplet clipped on the bedpost.
Fucked by the bereavement of cancer,
wading in a pool of indisposition,
and caught by the ice pick,
two inches deep in the coffee mug of quicksand gorged through your pores.
Immersed in a concept indicted by migrant workers of the relinquished boarding house,
two blocks down: apartment number point three.
Thriving on the filth that feeds this never-ending pentathlon.
Jilting the one that feeds you.
Breathing through straws.
Clog the pipes and turn on the water.