Connoisseur Phony
The raging timetable demands
his clockwork lungs to edges
and like the sun he rises maladroitly
only to lay back on his bassinet
relentlessly unbeknownst
Amidst the surfeit of innuendos
the mad shuffling provokes
and corrupts his innocuous eyes
Now he sees everything upside down
in a vertiginous kaleidoscope
where colors lost its quintessence
Hands swaying like dissonant pendulums,
heavy nimbuses upon his eyes
the torrent storm rams inside
Larcenous feet gliding downhill,
sutured chest unweaving every wink,
and like the path he dares to tread
his tongue is forked into two
abandoning only to move on,
moving on only to abandon
I caught him in the equinox,
his shadow descending to its home
and as he stared into his reflection
and gazed in the depth of his abyss
I try to feel a little empathy
but I cannot decipher the subtle morose,
I cannot touch the lonely noise
My bones shifted closer to the knives,
my effulgent rivulets ran denser
but the danseuse charade
of the myriad riddles remained
the empty chasm of this silhouette
And it cannot compensate, cannot abate
the sepulchral molt that undraped
the fog-shrouded suppressed fears
and collided with my toppling barricades
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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