Birth Into the World

Binded blithely born in reduress
the cretin cord lacked in shallowness
twisted binding all that held in kind
fulsome with gravity in the mind
open and pulling the implicit core
reconciling to a perpetual door
I begged to cut open the gelatinous
viscid agnostic bathos teeming with
creatinous culvert closing collusive
torpor in its trepidative tranquility
steeped in stalemated subterfuge
was the sorcerers sacred centrifuge
exaggerated and taut in its avail was
the unavoidable divulgence to fail
nugatory necessary and narcoleptic
in coupling with curt coalescence
the bond was with agonized reticence
culpable with consolidating cast
reconvening with intransigent clash
the disconcerting portal was wired
and in its amalgamation was mired
incepted amplified not to stultify
swirling in its candescence to codify
created with a lavish impugnity
overwrought with undisguised unity
engorged with impregnable tenor
waiting with rudimentary fetor
with incendiary fatuity was the door
to hinge upon the guarantor implored...

rorschach blood print
cold sculpted
in the silence and the pause
i touch nothing.

i touch nothing

sleep like the living
curled into irony
short-circuiting

less

i touch

sad fingertips
flee the scene
rain falls


-exeunt

The top-heavy desktop skated on a luminescent leaf.    
While the curtain swaddled a blow-fish until full red,  
the bees drank the mortar of the apartment blocks.    
My blanket hadn't formed for a while from the cough syrup dripped on the Twister floor,    
but the fabric filled the curve of a bubble wand.    
    
One clothes hanger bent out of place    
to poke a fried chicken breast awaited throbbing,    
other than the broil of a stuffed bunny too puffy to leave itself in professional football.    
   
The silk worms toiled together the medication droplets    
and accepted the desktop's invite to the frozen yogurt shower.    
The stuffed bunny grabbed the sheet and giggled sporadically    
because of a tangy overdose.    
   
I was there,    
but didn't know what to think.    
Grease the same for milk.    
   
The blanket drugged me asleep.    
When I rose, my nose had settled in five-years old,    
and the desktop had settled with a tower,    
and they played math games with me each time Mom popped in one rainbow.    
   
When I was born, a luminescent leaf slipped away    
and stumbled into a brown fall.    
The monitor returned for lunch and dialed up a beeper from the east town.    
An online encyclopedia digitized clockworks like these,    
   
and the fumbled blow-fish pricked the window.    
The pane cracked and sucked wind through to its aura of technocracy.    
A breeze blowing past the screen, then replacing leaflets for an assortment of keys,    
retrieved the AOL.    
   
And I was born to the breast of tender fried poultry    
from an unread inbox    
as the buildings reduced to the sum of their parts    
and the bees splattered a mouse with goo.    
The mouse's idiosyncrasies flustered the desktop to convergence among the wind-puppet keys, the nectar mouse and the beeper that had seen to the desktop until the leaf of fall.    
   
"You've got mail."    
   
I lied on my back in 2D.    
Waited for the blow-fish to send release.    
The blanket fluttered over the monitor, recoiled,    
   
and at once, I was an intoxicated baby.    
Though I didn't take a mother,    
I took a chicken breast in heavy breading.    
   
Then, as I said,    
I awoke at age five.