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Chiaroscuro

"When I come to the end of the road, and the sun has set for me,
I want no rites in a gloom filled room. Why cry for a soul set free."
Marcus Tullius Cicero

..

Hey,
It�s been a minute

So,
Let�s throw paint at the wall

Scene,

Second hand ticks tar
Pitch, throat tickles
Somewhere in the nose bleeds,
A gaggle of smoke break
Cranes, raucous whoop of laughter
Echoes back,
Pan out,
Back drop,
Bald faced edifice,
Stalwart,
Palm forward indifference
To its shrill refraction,
In climb of virile staccatos

Speak to me,
Of matter's propensity
To be
Richly woven,
Unknowable,
As the roots of your hairs
My searching hands
Tug
And all that weighted fall
Of lips,
In patient clams� bed,
Memories clattering,
Hail chimes,
Against these fragile panes

Periscope through my hollow
Bones

Let�s dial it back

Speak to me instead
Of leaves duckling dance
In automobile�s wake, two light years
Round about
The neighborhood, where
Killing is a spearhead to break
Bread, spring thaw,
Eye blinks to salt
Spray, against jetties
Roughened countenance,
Squalling,
In earthbound meteora,
Find me here,
In agony mute of
Arias, which struck
Archimedes' fevered thumb,
Before mine own

I�ll show you heaven
In a finger�s drawn tip
And tell you of the hell
Swimming in the wake
Of a thrown
Hand

Leave a parting indent
In my flesh,
Swirling print,
Tide�s froth
Retreats
In momentarily visible
Gloss,
In soluble corridors,
In all the quiet quell
Of violence
I do to myself,
To kill the noise,
To be alone,
In clean
Separating
Centrifuge

Say I, now,
Yesterday�s faded
After image,
Rise,
Specter that prowls the catwalks
By night,
Speak to me

Of carts rattling chains, sewn to iron
Skeleton�s basin,
Constellation: Serpens,
All in the crimson
Hearth well of
Gravitational
Stomach's
Gnaw,
All of this,
Molecular hand stitch,
A thistle in gale,
A shrunken, hardened
Tendon,
Hindering the motion of the whole,
Halting the universe,
In a whinge
Of metric contraction

Sing my disquiet to sleep,
Perpetual Madonna, steely
Fingered in your cradle of
Imbued concern, held child
Carried along by hand
And contemplation of all
That went wrong
In your life, deciduous
Dust, hip sewn in your swayed
Wake,
Cauterized in form,
Waters in your wrinkled
Brow,
Palm soft in
Deceptive depth,
Tepid pool of your
Surface calm,
Heart holds callous
At the kernel folds

Let�s dial it up

How brutal is your abandonments
Redacting calculus,
Speak to me, fire specter,
Of red Ceres,
Dog mother,
Snarling at the white eyed
Moon,
Wide mouthed,
Littered with a sea
Of ancient assaults

Chiaroscuro, you are dark
Behind a halo of blazings,
Profile casting half
A slant of shadow, chin in
Deep dive, eye of tarred
Brush�s
Saturated mane, lips
Of withheld
Knowing,
Parvenu
Behind their purse
And dare not
Speak
To me,
But discard me, in this
Unwombed hollow

In sight line of Procyon, Arcturus,
Pollux, folded along a
Steely jawed divide,
In widening berth of
Illumination,
Eyes
Bruised,
In their searing
After image

It�s all I can do, sometimes,
To forget,
For a fucking
Moment,
Lose your face in fixed
Points,
In clean
Mathematical
Ablutions

And I won�t say
How I wept in spirit,
Pores parched in
Arid slaughter,
Conversely aligned,
In antipathid silence,
Behind the long-knuckled beard
Of salt depth,
Where life devours
Life,
In full fathom five

Splayed disc of gaseous
Collisions, speak to me
Of lovers,
Fingers in familiar
Fold,
In black gardener�s corner
About the white crested
Iris,
Arms locked in fatal
Orbit,
About the forearm

Speak to me, sorcerer of
Four hundred thousand
Simultaneous eclipse,
Canticle of fusions,
Fissions,
And memories,
And light,
And agonies

Speak to me from where you�ve flown
In some buried terror,
Upon a motorcycle�s
Proud chested bark,
A great noise,
Your djinn,
A great silence
Is mine

Klieg light,
Pan in,
My shadow,
Leaning
Through an open door

Speak to me,
Of matters propensity
Not to be

Softly,
Leaves, windblown, descant
In oblique oscillations
I can calculate
The rate
Of their descent,
Listening
To a dry throat�s melody
And all that I am
Becomes a skin
Shed,
Summarily

And yields it�s becoming
To the next,

Scene

And the now

..

Chiaroscuro
By
R_Sculptoris

..

"Miss me a little, but not for long and not with your head bowed low.
Remember the love that we once shared. Miss me, and now let me go."

Written by DanielChristensen

(The Fire Elemental)

Published 26th Mar 2021

Author's Note

Hello, friend

Copyright � 2021 by Daniel Christensen. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

#astronomy #love #memories #MovingOn #universe

All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.

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The author encourages honest critique.

Chiaroscuro

cabcool

- Edited 26th Mar 2021 4:16am

26th Mar 2021 4:14am

Hi, DC

This is a most introspective treatise, whose sentiments float glidingly on the sparse melodic bed that transports it, unhurriedly.

The advantage of the voice is its inflections, its emphases, its pace, and its poise. Lyrics staring from populous razza can never commit themselves to a single or certain focus that pauses the imagination to let the poet speak.

I really appreciate the maturity of the piece.

Sincerely

cab

PS. I believe I have a poem by the same title.

Read poems by cabcool

Chiaroscuro

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