Inert

Today's theme: Inertia.

First picture: "Inert Metaphor". Second picture: "Dominion Of The Inert". Last picture: "Inertia Perceived".




Each of the poems today is several years old.

If Only Barely
------------------

If only barely,
I am alone, I am this which is
The writer of concise rambles
Well-composed and psychotic and trite.

I am inert
And callous and searching,
Searching for a world in which,
In which it is never a necessity
To erase the edges.

And this searched-for world, it is aflame,
It is brilliantly a halo absorbing
Itself into fire's heat;
And then it rests until,
Until the eclipse of sky and ground
Contain and then converge,
If only, if only barely...

Barely my heart is beating,
And unpredictably so, it is,
Is nothing otherwise
But alone.

+++++++

The Hyperbola Devoid Of Asymptotes
------------------------------------

I was confused by that triangular crescent.
And I knew it has always been meaningless.
I knew that squares were subtly tilted so
As to be trapezoids each withering and
Yet aesthetic. I was confused, surely, by
The hyperbola devoid of asymptotes. Thus,
I beheld such shapes of my inarticulation,
And I remade them via the chaos within,
Within my hand and mind alike. Oh,
I licked the lemniscates. And it hid.
It rotated until its duplication, until
All the cusps had bifurcated. In this inertia
I am an image self-intersecting; in this
Triangle curved into a crescent, I am provoked,
I am formed into an amorphous blur
By my ridiculous inexactness.

=======

Inert Is The Riddle
------------------------

Inert is time's ambiguous expression, is this
Redemption of impure diagonality. I forgot
Such imaginings tritely devout. I forgot
Those prayers surreal in their truncation.
And that thirst counters its hunger, the
Starvation which too is the dripping enumeration
We convey. Oh, inert is the riddle that descends
Unto Its purpose,
Its purpose as our salve for the strangeness
We subject to our constriction, to our madness.
Inert is the circle within us, within each
Polygon of rotation, within that deformed saliva.
For tilted too are those inconsistencies we deny.

..............

Spectacular Inertia
--------------------------

Spectacular inertia mends its timid whispers,
Transforming purity into perfection into
Empty and cosmic despair, into the lens
From where imagination becomes ourselves,
Becomes what is oblique yet blurred.
Oh, spectrums incarnate divide amongst this
Abstract abacus of punctured simultaneousness,
Divide among the atoms of refraction alluring.
And these putrid slices of amazement, they
Quell the superposition of madness, of
Artificial perception still perceived,
Still without shape or any other measurement.

*************

Becoming The Inertia
-------------------------

I become my inertia, become the subtle carcass
Of my remembered future, of our hungry and
Forgotten minds. I placate this spit,
Plagiarize this composition of cacophony
And anger. I then recreate the death
Of stillborn night, of daylight ascertained
To once be pure, to once be impenetrable
And reassuring. And I retaliate against
Those inflections. I then reject only this
Which is illegible, which is unread because
Of its obscene reverberation among what
Is our simplest droplet of misunderstanding,
Is of such wine tasting of entropy --
For it too is indifferent.

ooooooooooo

Of Dimmest Inertia
------------------------

This, too, is a cobweb spun
And containing none but emptiness.
This is too my everything
Of zero.

Oh,
These which are mazes
Of dimmest inertia,
They are solely myself
Absolute and severed;
There above dreamt sight,
There seen by only night lit
And never again imagined,
I have woken unto a solidity
Silken,
Sticky, entwined, ever
A tangle
Of scribbled worlds and stone
Existing so as to equal its own
Permanency.

''''''''''''''''''

Only
------

Cold and untelling,
Untold and yet yelling,
So were these emptinesses
Each
To be mine alone.

I need to be free
Within my prison;
I need to be real
Within my vision.

I need those spirals to implode;
I need this condemning
(This collapse)
To remain (as rhymes finish),
To be mine ... alone.

Complete and desired only
Were each reality isolated,
Was every world its own,
As I have hoped my spirit
Solid
To be, to be mine:
Mine alone.

Forever, ...such was this
Much too skewed,
Too inert, purposefully never
(And, so therefore) purposeful
(Or rude),
Forever, such were we
Forgetting, and resentfully so,
The angels ..... the anger - -
From any otherness,
From my very own.

{Repeat previous line once},
I need to be hidden,
Separated, unknown.
I, as destined again,
Need to be
Mine, only mine,
Only {repeat 'only' infinitely often} ...
Only ... alone.
*

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Leroy Quet