Relics of the Artificer

Son,
the circuitry of a heart is mercurial alchemy,
yet loathingly must these truths be dispensed
to dispel the heady, illusory fumes of youthful indiscretion.

I know the way the world slows down before a pretty face,
how breath hitches at the sight of thin waists;
I've written the script on endless legs,
and played astronomer to the admiring sun
bursting through the clouds of parting thighs.

I won't ever claim to have charted the cartography of exotic lands,
or traversed all the paths of arching backs,
but I know the tides of this particular sea,
and see the tumult of your future churning frothy.

Loathe am I to impart my heart's calligraphy,
to expound tragically upon the husky breathes
and facile enticements of youth.
Know only that the shell casings of such ballistics
have shorn casually through lesser men,
that such stoic imperviousness does little
to stem the copious flow of misplaced affections.

Gilded Gallows

Resignation collects along work garb,

settling timorously

as inadequacy settles much the same

on the mind.

A cathedral dominates the skyline,

piously anointing the horizon. 

Such beatitudes fall on desecrated faith:

for no communion with holy ghosts

have staved the day’s septic shades.

Wind lashes leaves like Hephaestus at the forge;

Boreas' yowling screams echoing the hammering,

tireless molding of metals pliable

yet enduring.

The same shall not be said of recent modalities,

the sorts contrived in automobiles seething

with apathy.

These poetic bastions breeding the proletarian dirge—

an ode anesthetizing.

Akin to the way village parking stipulations

cater to the baser impulses of civilian rage,

these petulant wants of the weekday ennui

corroding the manacles of the gilded dream

Americana.

Harvest Mead

The harvest mead coaxes again,

redefining the meridian of these wants;

polarizing the heretical Polaris

of this heart.

Remain ensnared by the potentiality:

the beauty ensconced 

amidst the fraying modalities.

Quavering tempestuously within a mutable mind—

savoring sustenance while it lasts;

re-forging identity within the prism of the night.

Let the twilight pulse surge serendipitously tonight,

for a moment’s flicker exists within these breathes—

this gaseous exchange, the currency of our

need.

Let desire guide us along this meandering path,

for this destination breeds promise.

If that possibility thrums precarious,

let whatever strands, flickering & persistent,

guide the axis of this amorous repose.

In the morning light

all is known;

in those laborious, stertor drones

affection grows.