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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Experience >> ID #1437477 |
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SPELUNKING THE PSYCHE
All hard lines, strong shapes Bright colors, make escapes To leave remains behind closed lids. Dark sparkles, vague circles, pyramids And glaucus forms that shimmer, shake To part and make the path to snake In tempting curves that beckon in - Into miasmas, rubbled trails, widdershin In halls of bone where eyes, where touch, Where sound and smell sum to not much To orient direction. Palaces of psyche here Erect their towers. Powers form and disappear. We have arrived at the gates Where mind mingles with the fates. Threads of silver, threads of gold, Threads of diamond strung to hold Baskets of conception, full Of dripping luscious fruits that pull Forth visions ...blues and reds and greens, Subtle shades, inbetweens Encasing passions, joys and frights, Sleepy loves, circus sights, Twirling parasols and braying beasts, Horrid things at nauseous feasts, Dusty sawdust , acrid smells, Crunchy berms of peanut shells. Stacks of baskets packed with stones, With crystal shapes, jagged bones, Where shafts of light spear the air, Ricochet in facet glare, Speed away into sensation, Pain diffused to adumbration, Hints of chaos, hints of hell, Cacophonic ringing bell Tolling failure, soft confusion, Flabby thoughts, odd illusion. Sliding shapes, found or flat... Not quite this, nor even that. Susserations hiss the walls. Spectral sounds, muffled calls Echo in, echo out, Boosting murmurs to a shout. Away from sounds, around the bend, Tentacles of stench extend And split and subdivide To where fragrances reside. Filaments of succulence Explode to flocculence Which shock through inhibitions To reminiscent exhibitions Where shattered memories clatter to the floor. Sludges of nostalgia to shuffle through, ignore. The final destination disolves in fuzzy mist For the locus of the self, a point, does not exist. It's thoroughly distributed, The sum of all contributed. A holographic spatter Of activated matter That cannot be dissected From the meat where it's erected. So we tumble back out into the Sun Not far from the point where we've begun.
© Copyright 2008 Sand (UN: jansand at Writing.Com).
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