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Apologies for the mess.
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Book Progress
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- Injectionby apchristopher
So, there with an elixir
Made of all that couldn’t mix
A vial full of colors so bereft of any picture
That I’d painted or beheld
Or in dependency compelled
To be liniment was nothing but a fix
And shaking it to cause it to appear
As though it could combine all the opaque and all the clear
To merge into a serum that my blood could thus adhere
But by the time the needle drew single, solitary drop the mixture that should be would disappear
By slowest calculation
Of the many moving parts
Constituent ingredients
Arranged by separation
Like the chambers and the valves of any heart
They offered no obedience
Within the circulation
Of the sanguinary circuits that I tried, but couldn’t chart
So passing any passiveness of pointed introspection
And seeing in a mirror made of mercury, reflections
That made me wonder why I cared to prove a safe connection
When in truth it wasn’t truth that I was hoping to behold from the injection - Unfurlingby apchristopher
Could I become the reason why
There’s something more to wake and choose to find
With fingers curling slowly on a blade that none could pry
…are reasons really good enough to sever or to justify the bind?
I wonder, all the same,
If it was shame or just a name
Or just an answer that I needed
So that something fully realized could shield me from the blame as I retreated
Believing, there in diffidence,
Were isolated islands in an ocean made of beads
And there, within a sky I knew was painted cold in insolence
…I tried to be the reason I continued drawing breath through broken reeds
Peculiar, in a sense,
That each lament was mere pretense
And that, with fingers slowly curling
’round the blade I feared to hold, I simply called it self-defense instead of calling it reality unfurling - Culpritby apchristopher
I take those imperfections and I tuck them all away
I file them succinctly under letters labeled Z through A
I put in little pictures, annotations to relay
The reason that they’re there as if to measure some dimension of decayAnd organizing every bit of failure that I find
I tell myself it’s like a map to places where I’m surely blind
And labeling the evidence I carefully designed
I casually connect the dots and hope that it’s a path to peace of mindI put the frailest fragments like they’re pins upon a board
And stretch a length of yarn between them all in search new reward
As if, there in the middle, I can find the real discord
The poison underneath so that an antidote I’m finally moving towardI take all of the answers and I file them, you see
In folders, alphabetically arranged, I labeled A to Z
I put in new addendums, black and white photography
That always seem to show that there’s an answer there, below,
But it’s hazy and just maybe I’m a little more than crazy
But sometimes I think the culprit that I see is merely me - Returnedby apchristopher
With bags beneath these weary eyes
And memories of dead end skies
Where not a cloud was ever far from view
How was it greetings led us to a desolate adieu?And waking with your phantom lost
To circumstances and their cost
Where what I had to pay I never thought
Nor did I ever wonder what it was I should’ve boughtInstead of what I chose to choose
By giving what I lost to lose
As if a ring I fitted in a dream
While hoping it would rest upon the finger of a queenA copper crown I put to flame
As if it were an absent name
But even then the emeralds never burned
And so I chose to see it as an omen for a heart to be returned - Turbulenceby apchristopher
The pin dropped
And then stopped
Circles made of sound were flattened low
Joining “can’t” to words of “have to know”And sound rose
Around those
Travesties of tenuous regard
Turning tender tenebrous and charredThe chime brings
Divine wings
Chapters set in books not fully penned
Merging “I mistook” with “duly tend”But set low
Was threat, so
Tapestries of every spurned offense
Carried far away in burned dispense
And when the pin no longer made a sound
The only thing it left was turbulence