First picture: "Glass Tori". Second picture: "Neon Black". Third picture: "Oblique Transcendence". Fourth picture: "Horrid And Beautiful". Last picture: "Apparently Of Glass".
Broken Glass
--------------
Shattered scribbles extend forth into such
Liquid, into such seeping, into this sleeping
Now waking, now tangled and presumed.
Oh, those shards are scrawled; for, they hang
And dangle from the ground. And never are
The shadows opaque. Never were the scribbles
Drawn by circumstance or contamination. Never
Were the prisms and prongs implied -- but, yes,
They imploded. Yes, these synonyms of dichotomy
Remade their sharpness into ugly riddles. But
A single truth of pacified glass, it was
Broken, and so it was killed. From death to
Transparent light, the atrocities of my dreams
Refracted then vanished. For, such curvature,
Such turmoil, it is rectangular and tapered.
And we do not observe that awkwardness,
Because it is our own sight smashed by
Its confinement, by its cognition
Once equal to its profanity.
=============
That Glass Of Trisection
--------------------------
Trisected glass --
Introspective is my wandering, is my darkness.
For, I observe the distance in my dreams. Yet
I cannot consummate with those thoughts; they
Are abrupt and vague. But are these prayers
Preconceived? Are those songs derived again
From such scribbles? Oh, she held within her
That glass of trisection. I tasted her sweat,
A sour alcohol of diffusion and improbability.
Then she drew upon me a grand tapestry. I ran
So as to be righteous; but I had proclaimed
Only that I would suffer. Then she shattered
The shards into their dust. I was misshapen.
I was contaminated by my sad pangs. And she,
She left to sing of certainty. Oh, ultimately,
I knew I was to sip the crumbs, was to again
Drink the sleep resented but somehow surely
Triumphant, bland, and esoterically stained.
++++++++
Hidden Behind The Window
-------------------------
Tangential to our equilibrium within the sphere,
The inspiration of numbers protruded into a point.
Outwardly, the silhouettes provoked our air.
And in the glass confined we became
The rectangles and the smoke. Inside
The eclipse of transparent virtue, there we
Became certain of such atrocities formed
From this smooth stone. Oh, tangential
To our insufficient dreams, we again woke
To dream again. Among this distance
We stared from the middle of the opaqueness,
Stared forward through the clarity we imagine.
Yes, tangential to our oscillation is
Our rippled perception. And we hide ourselves
Behind this window, hide ourselves where we will
Abruptly circumvent our tangents of distraction.
..................
Inside These Hallucinations Of Glass
--------------------------------------
Inside these hallucinations of glass, inside
The hollow spheres, I see ambiguous truth. There
I see un-manifested dichotomy and eviscerated
Insight. Inside the thoughts of color, I observe
Transparent exaggeration and opaque redemption.
Within the coil itself within this subset of all,
I find solitude's extroversion, find the spectacle
Of asymmetry, find those metaphors of emptiness,
Find the gasping glow emitted from that filament.
And I am aware of my sight. I am gazing
Through this delicate bubble unto the geometry
Beyond. Oh, in such reality I find the tangle
To be encased. But yet I cannot touch
Those strings; for I am meaningless;
I am as but an ellipse misinterpreted, am as but
My own perception looking further than
Every speck of darkness obscured, conjured,
And contained.
**********************
Inside The Rainbow's Glass
-----------------------------
Inside the rainbow's glass, inside this arc, inside
The vague parabola -- Those droplets of our whispers,
They are inside us surely; they are beheld
By truth's apparitions, are again betrayed by
Truth's expletives, are beautiful in their submission to
My unexplained blood. Inside the fumes of such
Spectacular and glistening anger is, is my own sight
Of sterile inflection. Inside the world without
Cusps, without maxima or minima is the curvature
Of dreams once amorphous. Inside us each is this,
Is thus the thought of crystalline sewage, is
The thought of madness truncated by reality, of
Mandalas severed from their linearity by the bending of
Both refraction and oscillation made anew into these
Unexpressed geometries I have conclusively divulged.
oooooooooooooooo
Differing Is The Glow
------------------------
Differing is the glow, is the transparence among us.
From distinct to clangorous are these shouts, are
The topologies of conjectures and proof, are yet
The curves of the strange labyrinths above our humanity.
Floating upward is this transitional glass, is this
Atom made into a molecule made into a thought
Of metamorphosis. Rising unto our descending sight
Is that clockwork of crystalline epiphany, is
That condensation of spirals into prisms, is such
A metaphorical hallucination made radial and
Vertical, made inert despite its hollowness.
Differing is the glow, is the introspective speck
Of contagious nonconformity. Differing is this
Madness that reiterates its opaque essence, that
Reiterates its distance disconnected abruptly from
Dangled completion, abruptly from
Damnation's surreal and counterintuitive spires.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Randomness Of The Glass
------------------------------
The randomness of the glass, it endures its liquid
So as to become both truth and lies, unseen, invisible.
Shattered is that droplet into consciousness, into
Conjecture and riddles, into paradox and imagination.
The randomness of this lens, it refracts thought, it
Transforms each dream into that which is amorphous,
Which is blind purity, transparently invoking an aesthetic
Machine. Stare within the diffusion, within this
Essence of circles, within the color of resonance,
Of the dizziness we excrete. Such is sweet.
The randomness of that pristine geometry -- I see inside
Its emotion; I see its mathematics. I hear, hear
The cacophony of misplaced cognition, of revelation
Soothed and yet flat, yet hallucinated and unexplained.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Within My Refracted Introspection
--------------------------------------
I coarsely strayed within my refracted introspection.
Truth creates itself from its own soul, yes.
And seen beyond each mind is the simplest thought,
Is absence and trapezoids enveloped by this
Tainted celibacy, by the amber disk we have
Evolved to ignore. Thus, the plural skies
Darken then implode, then distract me from
These drowning dreams of caustic beauty made.
Within my refracted introspection I saw the tinge
Of sacred concavity, saw the circumferences of
Squares, saw the division of circles beheld --
Beheld is the rotation stranger than its own angles,
Than the spirit of awareness I have scrawled
Upon glass and crystal, upon such reverberation,
Upon such rambling, oh, that we will soon comprehend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Atoms Of This Elemental Glass
------------------------------------
Dim contours drawn onto beauty's spirals,
These too are the curves of luscious magenta,
Are too the desperation and succulence
Of love's injustice, of flowers amber
Yet astigmatic yet pronounced via
Unnerving mathematics.
For such are but atoms of this elemental glass.
And we knew how to place the poetry
Onto such light, onto such artificial glitter
Above where skies seclude themselves
So as to always hide, so as to place
The poetry within us, within
What has been but every seeming atom.
////////////////////
Sands Already Equal To Glass
--------------------------------------
Oblivion's hourglass reveals its truncated
And hollow essence itself falling
Through the throat of every dream,
Through the center of every oneness.
It, as we, is waking if to promote truth,
To become obvious to its hungry stirring,
To its sleep held and spilled onto
Random voices arising inside
These sands already equal to glass.
For this goddess of a trillion photons,
Of temptation and halos swallowed
Then formed into ground, she
Utters the time rendered and divined
From space, from transparent dawn
Onto which
Such shadows of dichotomy fall.
##############
Such Glass From Which Sand Is Spun
----------------------------------------------
(Accusatory is the cobweb),
Is the glass from which sand is spun,
Is every cloud's night, is a shore
Among arid seas, among corrosion
Implied by what is determined,
Determined to remain aghast
And resentful.
And this faint crystal tells of truth,
Tells of uncertainty regarding uncertainty,
Tells of silhouettes and elevators
Arriving at these dawns, if only
To utter the final verse.
Oh, such glass from which sand is spun,
Of purpose's corpse sorrowful and undone,
Such pain alludes us so until
This voice tastes the rotting kill.
(((((((((((())))))))))))
The Glass Observed
-------------------------
The glass observed itself,
From spiral to pane to prism again,
From the calm of this sleep,
Until the world fell within its rotation,
Within its clarity shattering.
And the glass observed each self,
Saw through its pupil, its iris,
Through its cornea misplaced,
Until the world rose and retreated,
Until the photons had meant nothing else.
---
Leroy Quet
No comments:
Post a Comment