To Live and Not To Breathe
Five arms snooping coyly
At the persiennes of the equipoise
Of the red dying night and vim of dawn
Rapping the emollient shuddering
So everything paces with synergy
And in these times I am most alive
Inside the cloys of avarice and pride
Growing more eyes and superfluous hands
And my tentacles would permit me
To wander far off, maybe too far
That I reach the enemy lines
Ticking the mines, fulminating the wiles
And the expulsion of solitude
Malingers with the billowing dusts
In the silence of the hiatus
I have been to different abodes
Of auspicious filth dangling the throat;
Families masticating endearment
And thawing faces of loathe,
Lovers quaffing the treacle poison
In the most perfidious shape of words,
Friends plucking out the petals
And shredding the virulent thorns
Of vying to fit in the swirls of the vertigo
Severing honesty from its feral veraciousness
Tangling webs into the shrilling fault of stars
The wanton susurrations inveigles
A carnal strip show in blood bath;
Everyone skewing in the rift
Of astray algebraic fractions
That defines the world's utopic vision
And the paroxysm of the paradox
Disposes oxymoronic metaphors
Of becoming most alive in a submission
I am most alive, musing upon the damp soil
Where the dead lingers casted in the tombs
Of lack of quintessence, the decadence
Is putrefying from inside their bones
Four legs crawled like a centipede
And the thighs wearily pummeled
The verve spiraling in the hex
Of the moon's ostentatious smiles
Beaming in all hidden places
As the odorless town shuffled
And unfettered howls staggered
From precipitating in the rubble
Of a marionette's muffled jeremiad
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poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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