Ephemeral Atonement

The theme for today: Smoke

First picture: "Precognition Of Such Smoke". Last picture: (simply) "Smoke".



(These poems are listed from most recent, at the top, to oldest at the bottom.)

Of Scribbled Smoke
-------------------

From the simple stream of scribbled smoke, rising off
The hot flame's one vertex, the turbulence ascended
Briskly and subtly alike. Ah, of breath and savagery,
The wisp first coiled into an elliptical eddy, forming
A spiral embedded in indecision. And slightly rightward,
The fumes resisted that wind. But yet they recoiled,
Captured by the scents of a ghostly perfume. Yes,
The twisting helix rose into its verticality.
And then it broke diagonally, floundering in this
Certain air. Yet again the eddies are made, then
They too fly as the breeze. They too oscillate
And ripple in such vanishing. Then finally
The atoms of the puff retreat and diffuse, then
They dissipate into the final ceiling. And we
Forgot to wonder of what has been lost. For, we
Care not for the smoke's betrayal. Although we do
Concern ourselves with the particulate vagaries
Of that ephemeral atonement.

+++++++++++++++++

Within The Tarnished Smoke
---------------------------

Within
The tarnished smoke, ascending unto distraction,
Until all is bending slightly concavely about
That slant underneath our transitive syrup --
Within the excretions opaque is known linearity,
Is known the wisps upon which we choke, upon
Which we damn ourselves assertively. Yes, upward
Into the arc of choreographed foam,
We grasp the prisms undeserved; we become the
Claw that savages our breath. And we inhale
That tarnished smoke anew, if only to impose
Our lucid beauty upon itself, if only to
Taste the dirt above our night. For we lick
That dust of horrid solitude. Yet it seeks
Our human shame; it seeks the air that
We once succumbed to, that we only
Desired if to redeem us, if to ridicule our
Torrid voices. And we speak of such conformity.


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

And Then These Currents
--------------------------

The elegant sands of this fluid's emergence
Swirl and oscillate and transform into again
This superposition, translate into the froth of
Spectacular grit. Oh, withered and wisping are
The crevices that become the smoke that becomes
This uttered silt within us each. And then
These hues of auras gasping, they subdivide yet
Into transparent rain, into the wind made flat.
And then these currents in the midst of our dreams
Release themselves so as to conjure this
Which is their continuity, which is surely
The inspired convolutions of such parallel air.

==================

Choking Wisps
------------------

Incense stains our existence,
Stains that which is afloat
Above the smoke of every ember's scent,
Above and within the plurality of amplitude,
Beneath and beside what is our soothing
But intriguing plausibility. It overcomes
The images of linearity, overcomes the sweat
Which was once impolite, which again is diseased.
And this opaque air retreats to its seclusion,
Retreats to the forgotten voices once
Entirely surreal, entirely seen to be
The visions of choking wisps, the images
Of dim edges still concentric and musty.

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

Destined Smoke
--------------------

This world burnt by light,
It tastes the umber ashes
Into which it transforms,
Then becomes the very image
Where it will be achieved
By fire, by heat, by war,
By anger and desire again;
This world tastes its own death
And creates such a sad suicide,
If only to wake.
If only to sing a final song,
It implodes then collapses into
Emptiness.
And I have no responsibility here,
For I am distant.
I am, but remaining, to be destroyed
By fire, by heat, by the emotion,
By something so ambiguous.
And therefore we are now, as I laugh,
Only our destined smoke ascending.

/////////////////////

The Nightmare Containing Smoke
-----------------------------------------

The nightmare containing smoke - - this
Cancerous fog disciplining every
Obscurity, every deception, each
Faint whisper of turbulence and
Flame - - it speaks of its reemergence
To our nights of screams and light,
Of carousels meaning so little,
But inspired by their very triviality.
And we choke, gag upon this
Brilliance, this violet and orange aglow,
This scent of aesthetics, this taste
Of ignorance, this virtue within us
Becoming sour in its descent, becoming
Stale in its disintegration ... into
A heaven without souls, a hell
Without humanity, without
Any recitations of those prayers
Made incompletely out of beauty.