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The Chariot

Let’s be honest,
Rooms are composed of six lines,  
  
Line One:  
Why am I a who-man, cataracted into  
This  
Antagonistic, rectipetal  
Lee,  
Hand of accreted injury,  
Thrust before a liquefactious air,  
And why is this sleek-  
Shod carrion bird,  
Flute of limbs and impermeable  
Coat,  
Circling the stench  
Of once proud flesh,  
Rendered, now,  
A tumble of stinking ropes,  
What it is.  
   
Line Two:  
Why are the corners brooding  
At the drum beats your hips  
Are throwing like tides,  
Their clasped beak  
Adamant,  
In taut angles,  
Unable, in all their chitinous  
Umbral carapace,  
To hold your fire,  
Venting black tapers  
Into the shuddering  
Music.  
   
Line Three:  
Why is hunger  
An abscess,  
At the absolute center of  
Everything, this  
Corpus Mundi,  
Voice of the insolvent    
King,  
Munificent, only  
In laments,  
Poured upon parapets  
Evening gloam,  
Whose fasting fires allay  
Equidistant,  
To its echoing  
Atmospheric  
Bier,  
By daylight,  
Interred,  
Into its cairn,  
Why is hunger.  
   
Line Four:  
Why is a memory in the hollow  
Of the bed, where your scent  
Has lain its fingerprint,  
A void spiral, pressed  
Its breath to indent  
The mattress,  
Why do I continually dream  
Of your absence  
And wake in the rooms  
You have left,  
Why isn’t a memory a stone.  
   
Line Five:  
Will you tell me why I ask you  
Questions you could not  
Answer in the selfsame language of  
My heart, whose dented  
Atria have formed the unique  
Identifiers  
Of a bullet casing,  
Will you soak my ink in your  
Tears until it runs  
Off the page into your  
Lap.  
   
Line Six:  
Why is dread of the inevitable  
Boredom, our collisions will naturally  
Engender, by repetition,  
Enervating the ecstatic longings,  
Mired in the red taped,  
Rubber stamped queue labyrinth  
Between us  
And the absolute surety of injury,  
Fomented by these pyroclastic  
Thoughts, vanguarding lips,  
Bruised in their magnetized rush,  
To clasp, to breach  
The channel,  
A totemic Scylla and somehow strategically  
Partnered Charybdis, perched upon opposite  
Shoulder, whispering sewn threads  
Through our lips, knocking back our
Tenuously reaching fingertips,  
Why are we parting again,  
Oars thrusting at a cold breakwater.  
   
..  
   
The Chariot  
Or  
Elenctic Method  
By  
R_Sculptoris
Written by DanielChristensen (The Fire Elemental)
Published
Author's Note
This work was written in collaborative spirit and inspired partly by my friends in ink, Rob, Rianne and Rina. Looking forward to knocking our poetic heads together again.

Copyright © 2023 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.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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