epistemological metaphysics
of
rhetorical hallucinations
Michael Dickel
i wind itself tries to kick your brain in with strident steps to pull it out by roots despairing that you have stood up to the scream your ears humming the buzzing bees your mind drifts on as you steer narrow streets skyscraper valleys leaking mists of your crocodile tears
ii apparently alone one listens to the furious sirens screech exhausted and ready to turn in all directions ready to follow the enchanted human howl of need desires follow close behind eager to pounce and divide the leavings among shredded parts of you could anyone ever have captured this nightmare or imagined before waking each grain of oak strains to escape its cellulose walls and burst its destiny
iii realizing falling star blaze glittering wish-comet returned elemental state sears sky tears seams celestial imagination each grain of oak maintains its claim on the acorn despite blazing fires each grain of oak wishes for its right the acorn birth
iv but in sirens' howl who can deny flames oak's urge to pull itself apart to seek its double-helix beginnings and beyond who could cuddle the wind in hands dive for rocks beneath a road urge failing to act strive to unleash the archaic you do not hear voices— it is always my voice this mythic urge despair and flight towards the dream of that which is not yet ever— urging you toward shipwreck there is so much to see there amid torn limbs who decided these rocks mean ruin rotting adrift in fouled primordial minds the wreckage may resolve our survival a solution of chemicals— hormones we call self— who carved the stone cliff you plummet up who worships this oak relic dug from Pharaoh's tomb
v your bones have faded bleached now so white now clear wisps cloud steam ghosts adrift from you you revealed each oak tree wind-scarred deciduous along with desire cloudy white bones slip away lost thoughts of law decayed and tattered winds it is time for you or for me to release— my skin burnt in this wind hardened into bark dash your head on walls of rage for there lie— salvation release form you imposed upon yourself but these voices me singing in the empty shower my voice bee-stung dead
vi my embalmed hands in death throes writing hieroglyphs reduced to geometric structures structure to molecules molecule to atoms atom to particles particle to energies all energy light my form stains light a shadow played out yet barely slowing for this how I remember nothing ever was imagine me oblivion insisting on worn paths— perhaps to prefer the power-over of desire over under-powered release
Categories: Digital Art, Experimental writing, poems, Poetry, Writing
Loved every line !
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Thank you!
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A thought-proving soulscape, Michael.
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Thank you, Jamie.
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very powerful, love the imagery, nice job, Michael
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Thank you, Jonathan.
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