u/International-Elk970

A different sort of sense
in mind,
is gadding before
I articulate its behind.

Like a brother across
the callosum,
calling with a buffer,
and a mechanical whir
only across from its bottom.

It’s funny as the imagery
I’m conveying
sounds rather Rabelaisian,
with a Callipygian scent;

and yet my meaning
couldn’t be less of an evasion
couching in a vent.

Strewth, words pitter-patter
around my faculties,
such that disjointed contexts
entangle in fragments.

For I was just thinking
about my lady’s
phenomenal hiney,
in a hodgepodge with reflections on opining.

The plural sensations
at motley play,
they indicate and imbricate
my fair maiden’s mane.

For it oft sits upon her bott,
her throne of a lot,
and inspires more than a turn of phrase.

White orb, pale orb,
everything under the sun -
feeling-frilled unscathed fun,
dipping thoughts into puns.

Train your eye, the form-had,
Down you go,
bristling nexus tide.

To err in the presence of
background noise
seals a trough
in the furrows of time.

And I infer platitudes
temporarily cease
once my void is focused
wherever entropy minds.

So down you go
through-out; flying
before seeing,
stars thrive ever-reaching.

Intensity when prone,
animus alone surges
through the white door
as you fall where it hurts -

each side forgoes
the other, the angels
in-between, the dreamcatchers,
transmogrifiers,

the always-undead-smother;
and each side: one crooked,
one dismally perfect -
and what are aesthetic values?

Simply the shadow
betwixt the twain/the borderline:
or so quoth
crucial imagery.

It is either the comeuppance
from the depths
and the plummet;

or the ascension
from assent,
lessons from a subconscious turret.

And God gazes into us
much as we contemplate the All,
equally dazed, stupefied by imperfection
as we are by infinity’s gusset.

Thus we are a gift
and have been gifted,
it’s all just for you
as you are just for the all.

Not a table of values,
or a want of decency,
not a strangling hollow reliance on
salved loons,
but an ethical filigree
of vacuumed or filled themes,
the meek hegemon at Waterloo.

Wormholes arise in this sheet
from truth to truth, error to error,
until we recognise that the idols,
resemblances, and rituals,
comprise a highway novel and much trodden

-> if only we relax and propel,
and affirm this goal.
Surprise them, those that tread
over the kind, and feed dense spells.

The void wears
steampunk goggles,
and gobbles ecstatic
experiences for fun.

With a radiating grin,
to tranquility’s chagrin,
the cantankerous nut-
job gobbles the sun.