The inaugural bang swiveled with the vacant expressions of a muted feral crowd indignant about ethnic identity and swift in the recourse of tyrannical thugs pandering withered abuse

I solemnly abided in a chirpy itinerant glower against the exclusive system for stranding the disintegration of lyrical integrity for the Potemkin cheers of the culmination of too many jeers

Withered words for the abeyance of silence I incurred with wistful pleas for resurgent clarity beyond   sheepish fears

So I loitered in the evanescence of words..

Watching with alacrity as the strident ignorance of grafted wretchedness writhed its last mustered exsibilation at the sound of windbags bloviating beyond prodigal extravagance without a visible tweeted word

I measured my pause…..as I considered the heft of poignant exposures to a dismal serenade of miscegenated politics and garbled breaths of wheezy mendicants seeking participation in the trophy of smothered compliance

But I marveled simultaneously at the extinction of the shriveled crowds as they sized up the minutiae of wastrels glamorously inviting a frozen recapitulation of sorrows borrowed and wasted on minced platitudes that swindle still the votive confidence of regimented sympathy pretending empathy for soured hearts professedly defiant at their bereaved will

My pulse I clocked at 120 as I wondered where on earth the 140s and 150s have frittered their patience on with such brazen alacrity for the garish snarl of a sojourn into the ineffable effrontery of aureate mutiny against the tyrant of deaf spoon-fed indignation without the luxury of shared ignominy of memorable cadence for frippery in sparse blurbs registered in braille rather than brawn

Then I remembered my vociferous persnickety temperament and the curdled hatred of procrustean swan songs to an etiolating standard of ethical entanglement in aloof issues delivered with a decisive swoon too swift in earnestness to outfox with a quipped rebuff or a calculus of classical spoof

Then I wondered with a problematic but inherent prolixity…..
I too could adorn the adoring moon with a lyrical lampoon geared for a clockwork punchline or a winsome rebarbative tune….OR…. enchant with an incisive acerbic rant about how pasquinades outstay their welcome because of the clambered insistence of happenstance years ago in a blinkered mirror but never rehashed too soon

But where would affection heap its laurels if I dared to swindle the spotlight away from frisky poetasters who proved a renegade inspiration for fluttered triumph in a seaside tragedy only the crestfallen waves of pestilent Idiocracy could steal from my outstretched tenacity in verse and verve

Boom went a fulmination of hatred at my labored words! And then I swerved to avoid potholes of tenuous gainsay…. and other miscreants littering the world with misappropriated labels for laments belabored with publicity for displaced enmity distilled from a cauldron of mismatched ignorance….tethered to the vagrancy of gripe plucked at the ripe time for a twenty-dollar prize give or take a dime

But that dime separating 1990 from 2010 meant more than anything to a life littered with hallowed word crimes…. against the sanctimony of syncopation with cheap bleats too arrogant to be sheepish at the lavish indulgence of the marginalized wines…. brewed in a castle flickering on fiat worth rather than the simplicities of minutes of warbled time

So I currently warp minds with the proctor of a gamble too garish to finesse the quicksand of attrition but jaunty enough to bypass the limitations of a linear self-referential memorial about the circular nature of irony espoused by divorced rhymes

Now I stand ascendant….waiting for the retinues of retinas to absorb the wavy rigmarole of the serpentine pathways carved beneath the buzzwords of race and division and towards soldered unity with a human race beyond racism…. and a class divorced from socioeconomic crass division

Just then I arrived at serenity…. as I realized that the BAR exams that encage so many aspirant hearts are counterfeit in the court of the highest judiciary art that believes that insidious artifice is an embezzled venture of frolicsome guttersnipes wallowing in division can never revive a lifeless heart…. even if quick-witted credentialism rattles the slaves to vapid artforms that any humanism would never deem smart

Ditch the agitprop as a human frailty indentured to endure the curated disease without a cure to make the snollygosters in Washington ever so cocksure with their cockalorum disregard of the palatable consensus to make news real again….Finally for the fraternity of an enlightened human race in a benighted world of trendy fatuousness that infests the planet with the debauchery of glorified urchins jerking the levers with severed brevity to promote infectious foofaraw with cultural indemnity

I leave you with this

What is ornate complexity without the luxury of concerted beatific bliss that the parsecs that flummox your minds throb vehemently with cohesiveness in my internal design are not remiss

And remember the benighted standards of kitsch for the kitchens of penury bewitched don’t stand a chance against the overriding itch to vanquish mountains one after another to cross them off the list

“To linger in the coarseness of such tribulation without her,
Angel of unsullied which admits no stain I am a noble man,
Edges of decision apathetic illusion satiated in dreams,
Will we depict with agony like vertigo amidst our lives,

In need for something convivial of exploits and adventures,
I cannot choose love in the doorways of infertile sordidness,
Anima falls into the luring darkness of lugubrious calamity,
****** away despair nurture the exigency that is moirai,

Romance of every ideology torments the romance of another,
****** off the rancor and the cognizance of root anxieties,
Once an effulgence of brazenly resolute bond with others,
Beautiful in creation is squall to cultivate as natality begins,

Uncertain fate gets bathed from your inundated minds of euphoria
Clench  your that guard you through deserted nights of loneliness,
Inward images so engulf one seeking affinity of future natality,
In the lateness of the world primal lamenting not to succumb to
Infertile Sordidness”
By Andrew Guzaldo ©  12/15/2019  #176

Whereof void cometh light
Therein the realm of whispers stretching vast
By what great somnolence fore-takes the night
Unto the mind’s recoupled, last

By speckled sand in burgeoned storm
Whose weaving deems thy make
In nebulous, unstructured form
Til brinks, again, daybreak

Whence shrouded depths bestow thy name
O Maker of the Lands Estranged
O Dark Unbridled Taskmaster
What mirth beguiles thy claim?

For in the harbored bow of day
To eat of such abound
Remade in Night’s shadow’d parlay
As we, remade from ground

What, by thy gazing over land
Should bring immortal what is man?
Where through the reaching unto nought
Shall future’s stake, our hearts allot?

Where dreams be dreamt in wake and rest
Your hand to ours, there, to caress
To guide our minds and move our breaths
To breathe for life’s unending test

As is the mount to he who hikes
A place to chase the peak
Should we, who in nature alike
See ours and wish our keep

‘How quaint,’ remarked Mistress Hora as she turned the afternoon on its head, ‘that you would consider time to be a linear construct.’

‘Positively post-historic,’ agreed Master O’Clock, nodding his head in perfect synchrony with the orchestra that played inside his ear. Today was Waltzday (or so he had named it), an interminable reminder that atomic metronomes particularly those of Viennese manufacture were not to be trifled with.

‘Be assured, my dears, that this fancy is a passing one and exists only as a fleeting extemporaneous distraction,’ our Mistress continued. The first year students breathed a collective sigh of relief. ‘Now, I want no clumping, no running ahead, and NO helical improvisation. When yesterday’s fish and chips come wrapped in tomorrow’s newspaper it gives our school a most unfortunate reputation.’ The class chortled as one. ‘Most importantly, please remember to take your pocket guide.’

I reached for my bedraggled copy of The Theory of Chronometrical Fluidity: Compressed Edition and wrung the pages out. I had failed badly at applied clepsydrics and my cousin Widget wasn’t letting me forget it. From behind the glass, I spotted her playing a furtive game of Gregorian and by the look on her face February was winning. I blew her a lemniscate to grab her attention. She scowled, looked up from her losing streak and giggled when she saw me spiralling in her direction. ‘Good luck,’ she spiralled back.

Miss Hora flexed her wrist and glanced at her temporal transponder. ‘You will be marked on cuneiformity, consistency, and rate of continuance. Now be off with you. Tempus fugit!’ With a flick of her bejangled fingers she opened the S.A.N.D. grates. I held my breath and jumped.

i struggle throughout the day to find any semblance of hope or kindness that can show moving forward at all is worth the time, effort, pain, and grind to simply exist

i tremble at the most nuanced implications; i become cold, and my skin aches with sheer terror over being alive, striving to comprehend between each sunrise and sunset why the desolation hasnt taken me as of yet

and then the plot comes, and i break

each and every time i begin to feel the tangible sensation of worthlessness and hopelessness i cry; alone, harboring diligent conviction for everything i wish i could do

the actualization of mortality is an ever-present ghost haunting me where i rest, where i sleep, where i walk among the growing crowd of grey, listless faces. it overcomes my efforts, it drowns me in subjugating thoughts, flights of fantasy for the dream to give something meaningful; to drive change in a place, for things and people, that could bring goodness or kindness to them too; to deliver unto my own being a sense of purpose and meaningfulness that surpasses the mass mediocrity which suffocates this world and transcends my own hope to do good unto the world at large into something more powerful than words, or wishes, or dreams

i become overwhelmed with the cost of being alive, the choking sensation of doubt which derives through strife and worry for all things monetary which beguile any path towards meaningful philanthropy

in this world, only the rich can afford to live or be free of worry, and i wasn't designed for this world to begin with; i wasn't meant to be, literally, and yet i wasn't given chance or love to find the means for myself before the miring angst and pain which stifled me had made me succumb to it, as such

every choice begets a driving fear which cripples any means to move forward

i have been behind in everything, from everyone, for so long that it becomes painful to even think to wake another day, and the sombre grasp of reality that what given chance or hope or intent i could ever have for others, let alone this world, come crumbling down in an avalanche of susceptibility, vulnerability, and agonizing defeat - i wish nothing more, in those moments, to end my life

nothing and nobody would miss me so that it would hinder their efforts - there could be zero affect in the long run, something which i find peace in knowing: at least it wouldn't be of any loss to the grand scheme, or the short run

i would leave, as i was meant to never be to begin with

Corded muscles of the neck ferry the voice of sky,
Charon of words adrift in a salivary dislocated sine,
A fracture of breath, the stenciled rowing of a sigh.
Psychopomps of moonlight, past-throated vultures,  
Carrion of clouds even if stripped clean in vulpicide,
Even if our scorched and coining tongues tip at stars.