the illest illustrator of illustrious illumination

I sojourned to the forest

Which stood bathed in loony light.

I happened upon a wolf

Who with panting smile spoke with delight.

“Mind your grimace,

Do not mourn this fair night;

But behold her splendor

At her majestic height.

Adjourn, and learn from the moth.

Whose urn is shaped from the yearning bright.”

And so I dove deeper yet

In woods cluttered and blurry.

I bore fire which shew a moth

In haste flapping and in a flurry.

“Live up your hours,

In this swift mercury;

Opt not to fritter time

With your needless worry.

Away, and survey the roach,

Pray it not betray you in scurry.”

In a leap I bound further

Into grand plants to arrive

In presence of a cockroach,

Who chittered with a spirited drive.

“Look upon me

And know you are alive;

For all that is crucial

Is habit to survive.

Forage, and pledge to the Recluse,

By imparted knowledge you will thrive.”

Now in fatigue yet I pressed with glee,

At long last to attain my delinquent due.

In the distance I witnessed an ancient tree,

Awaiting secluded, carpeted in emerald hue.

Determined, I pressed on at a vigorous degree,

And finally neared where the majesty grew.

Weary, I perceived the stock as if I were a flea,

Then beheld the sonorous voice which I did pursue:

“What stubbornly you seek in your debut

In my presence which surrounds thee,

Are things yet which you cannot construe

with your callow state that presently be.

Yet a few things ye have accrued

In your sojourn surely you’d agree,

Is the knowledge you doth pursue

Is not without your duration’s fee.”

The last time I walked outside,

only darkness.

We coexisted; I was content

with  its abundance.

A night un-phased by the

celestial aura of the Loon.

Yet by chance, or fate perhaps,

I was caught by a curious ray;

One that pierced sternly, justly.

I stood beneath the enlightening

beam, and cast a shadow

to the ground which

clung to the darkness;

an asphalt effigy,

opposed to

a light-post reverie.

Within the ruddy arabesque,

swings a pendulum.

My eyes are trained to them now;

the flailing, blurred space surrounding

the  gentle gyrations

reminds me constantly

like a swinging censer

that it was meant to be;

a melee with fate,

or just

more time to wait.

On the curbside I caught myself

staring at the asphalt as it glittered into a galaxy of broken glass.

I found the ancient, empty space in-between the stars

had light-years since

been kept from my oval windows.

Alas, I caught–the coroner of my eye

An L.A. Noire woman

With ruddy lipstick,

netted stockings,

stilettos,

a cute revolver—

and a selling smile.

The ad on the wall–Above the empty

Square black velvet case;

Mouth open; a white-silk grin

Reflecting dimly off the glass.

Before I knew her,

the hammer struck the primer

in slow motion.

A supernova of shards scintillated beyond

the cracked bullet-hole pupil on my oculus.

The bullet chiefly ascended

With no friction

To the empty space in-between the stars

Igniting ancient light-forms,

Cosmic residues of times long gone.

Yet no verity was lost.

No matter left unanswered.

My lens, undaunted,

Blinked back into the obscurity,

Amongst the dross, staring

At the smoking cartridge.

Deep in the confines

of the terrible tunnel

of the Beast,

I reside and bargain

for my release.

Like the fecal beetle

that urges new life through decay,

it begs the æther

to bring forth life

as it takes one away.

Transplanted peering souls

lingering and stray

being coy and asking questions

to the cosmos

“do you think I can prevail?”

I hear answers but they’re just echoes

bent by the stars and moons.

I who dare to surmise

I don no disguise but simply

feign wise;

I continue to query

to no end I’ll never bury

this desire within me to know

the formula, the theory, the thesis

Finally I stand; I’m free still

dripping with vitriol.

Weary but determined I scream

“to what avail?”

If only I could look at life from a bird’s eye view. 

To see the whole picture, the outcome.

That way I’d be able to better delineate

my cogitations about my life, at least. 

These everyday struggles and experiences relate

directly to the natural formation of a river. 

Something happens, and it is shaped one way or the other,

giving it its unique configuration.  Right now I feel like a stream,

not quite a river;

Though I’m still streaming and moving forward,

at any point a boulder could cut my venture short, and then

I’ll be dammed.

While they are grounded,

there is no sky, only the towers

and the elevators climbing 50 floors;

to them the ultimate ascension.

For it’s a well known fact

that cows can’t look up at the sky.

They hurdle through Downtown,

with poor agility mooing with heartburn.

The herd in line to meet the traffic

to race home at a bovine pace

to tend to their veal;

so like cannibals they can eat them

to digest their soul and attain their powers,

along with more weight to throw around.

The skyscrapers they leave behind them

are their only beacons to Heaven and the stars.