Masolt (tav/ati)

[in] gentle basin made for soak, blood on angle
whet of thumb and wet with kind of letting go –
up against the sink of taking thrust to level set
by glow, I am made to know my seething on the
slab without the flow of peer review; less because
it deals with sentimental stages I still grow and
wither some in stable from, nimble fingered and
in oaken grasp of masculine transformed as one
is drawn in the pursuit; held in outs for something
worth the inclination I assume will mount to mean,
disassemble from the fold of unsurpassable to win
my overs through, gentle bastion of effort upon
which the hold returns to, unaware that what’s
awakened is the slumber I refer to, tan and at
the broke I’ve been.

Heōsphoros; obsidian split

“[a] Sacrificial Vessel — supreme success!;” by
fifty-odd incursions over timelapse held it gets too
wide to call, there’s a limitation growing out of frame
with each plateauing or indoctrination built around
the canvas-slab of ache; clipped to find the ground
surprisingly ill-suited to contain the texture breaking,
from inferior of cast to an impressive mould that takes
the halves of greater parts to Whole, said venusian
by waking to sensation as foretold in epithet; proudly
striving to be like a fallen beam across the sky of rush
and hopeless sense in fading, holding on to fracture
by the split of structure since invading – revelation
by the stakes of someone out to find a claim to
space inside another’s skin – without repenting.

Lectophage (aphasia)

It wasn’t proper to resist – I could set the self up knowing
that I’d bend the way Narcissus did to get his way and shed
dead skin beneath, lost to any shape of water too attractive
to inflict this new love to; which is why I told myself I’d never
leave the self as you seem wont to do, and conflicted in this
carrying of open frame resume the worship as – near to any
other source of broken comfort I could pass a likeness for,
contemplating short of nature what it means that I might
cause the flesh to bring, certain form in vain of sentience
to mild awareness teeming, most electric to the touch.

For a time I mean to bury it, the body must deserve it;
what is clean is made to hold onto the image I control
the more it breaks, simple by the bare compared and
in rebellion against, the soft it feels – to the fairest mode
of pressure I succumb to as I peel, the layers back.

Ridge Hell

From need inherited by trait, a markup from embracing
circumstantial when resolved – body bent by stretching
and attempting to upstage the depths one delves to; in
absolution false and elevation too adept to take a step
by going back, [or] claim a sense of contemplation by
the scars that mean to mark the self at will – it is rarely
ever worth it to repent in full until the sentence comes,
for a punishment to feel like it contains the justice done
onto another by the pale, measured light against the
instance of a brother I am still, neither keeper of nor
certain of the role he must fulfil in service to; duty just
by realising every promise it’s abusing, damning path
we’re on by choosing – gag and tether, netherbound.

Thamyrian Glad

So much for fragility; 30 salt tonnes subtle into
vault mentality, slip becomes an accident as
anything held over from the chance a cause
commands me to insist on weakness through –
in tentative impression of the powers one
resists in vaguest efforts to improve position
fast, the origins of narcissism rooted back to
pass new judgement virtues, or single out the
lowest I arrive at by pursuing – thoughts one
must hold back by moving, self toward hostility.

Subphelonia

This comic outlook on the take, split relief from
subtle moments when the wire doesn’t make the
sense it should – I stall my innards in the hopes
the rope resists them but the cold reaction breaks
the self in half, it couldn’t cope by simply having
to endure the cuts I did, or stand in place of
imperfection held together by the biding of uncertain
time to rid this conscience of; a tonic virtue doesn’t
miss, or vice enticing to the hit and shot in full –
a subsequential part of nature past the aspect of
its cruel example made, of the self as much as
anything this strangle-held to blame, an old crime for.

Ph-Aps; the catch is better than the chase

Dramatic wrestle bearing – sleeve dissolved in darkness tearing
through the likeness of disguise, mine the flank of any pairing of
the body with the clause, inconvenient addressing of a power I
am close to swearing never to return, humour-sever-entertain;
from the shapes that form on pillows to the dents I am uncertain
are the constellations known beyond the limits of this man –
chased from every other vision I’m invaded with when planning
to let soft dictate my bearings, felled apart by any daring to play
dead around the trace, caught in branches while preparing his
mercurial arrangement – always vanishing to touch.

Led Orium XIII

Good run spurning – spun to the degree I find, nothing seems
to matter when I set the self to binding this construction to its will;
learn the archetype from caring too much over the fulfilment of the
cycles I invade, victim to my detrimental long-cuts bound to say I’ve
made it too much like reward I’m craving – silence by the space I’ve
taken for the granted I was not, spitting out my fluids seeking to be
spoken to by source, and there transformed to something seething;
poison out to grow my worship under lines of hordes to follow in
the steps of what I face – body shutting down by sectors, as the
eyes begin to glaze; thoughts become a second shadow to Ideal
I once engaged in, now am punished by attempting, by the God
I should replace.

Cordoban Cal

God he
loves me he
loves me not.

Mock me gentle to the face – have me stand on the invasive, still numb
of shin and sole, having sold most of my assets to a power that controls
me all the more I tell it to, let it cast immersive shadow over something
I can do no turn against – softest to the rough I carry as I stare down a
comparative example of release, patient with the bulk of wonders that
addresses me completely, says I’m not to worry simple over tensions I
am symbol and of heightened likeness to; as I take back my discomfort
and allow the self this fluid – misrepresentation of.

Paradoxytus; Pouring

Pining for the nines and I, [am] hungry with the energy of
hundreds I exceed, blame and unconventional for nothing
less than searing and surprisingly, abide – by norm and
this professional endeavour bolted through, bid aborted
by the fault of “not inside me,” nor beside; in nonsensical
approach to feeling something pure refine its tastes to me,
finding pleasure to the setting of profanity, endearing –
paradox by paralysing thoughts to what they mean,
and letting anything impossible deliver me from
really getting into tasks at hand;

parasensible to custom and about as hard to handle
as the full I tend to pour, as professing to fastidious it
also knows I’m forced to realise – care essential to
my further as without them I am neither myself or,
the man ascribed; the one they seek.