The Only Triad worth Knowing


"The unwashed hero is

an unheralded glint

in our caverns;

the cave pearl submerged

by convention.”

I Thesis

I am in love.

I am in love with this color dust.

I am in love with this notion encrusted life

because

it is

my own.

It plummets from the pink dawn

shaping glyphs;

Young light;

Dead scripture;

From ancient runes draw breath

sealed by tobacco tongues; sanguine snarls.

It slips vaccines through the

rough flesh of every room;

coursing the cracks of my Elektra complex;

asking me for a new concept.

These shoddy sages; my family men;

My love affair with the afterlife.

II Antithesis

Regiment will never merge with rapture;

And maybe I am the snowflake

that Jack London couldn’t quite conceive;

I am forever self-fashioned,

and not too tastefully done.

III Synthesis

Here’s to flesh!

Here’s to numbers!

Here’s to booming gatherings

and strangled support groups..

To the hearth of understanding.

To being kissed by eloquence

and disarmed at every comma;

The Scientist!

Unseen functions, very much

a written realm, very much alive!

The Narcissist!

Our default faces; My Gen Y spectrum!

The Poet!

The confidences of conflicted men;

The life-grudge to lose life!

The Stoic!

Love for creatures, love for wire,

fashioned and consumed!

Love for the furious activists who brought you forth

to the monks of past that drew you near

to the white collared devils that stole the world;

Your world of higher texture!

Love for the mongrels I call affinity;

For the children who make their way;

Love for the disheartened mother

and the derision of our fathers;

“If our fathers are our models for God,”

then God is convention, submerging.

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