Bronx hush of wisdom
Breathes heavy descending stairs
Of higher class redundancies
Pristinely emphatic judgment
The artists are critiquing the existential
Atmosphere of postmodern bliss
Incessant touch of reach to bleach
White positivism
And racially contended
Though only in soft spoken utterance
The fallen history between diverse lines
Sharing world wisdom traditions
To breach the abysmal gap
Whoring emotion
On digital recognition
And a façade of Californian sunshine
Taken with a bit of ease at least
After a long and lonely fight
Abstaining from the dilution of self
Into the Bronx river underbelly
The silent grit
Of death or retirement
Merely ghosting on the latter
In brushes of God’s family
Posh good faith
Begging to relinquish the analytical season
Effortlessly
Ineffably
Begging to make haste
In the reckless traffic seeping
Out the river’s daily chase
Come to rest synecdoche
On timely farce to face
Rationalized displacement
In the wake of bitter southern cold
The organ bellows
Beneath fiery Catolic web
Stained glass assertions
Of the desert hath been bred of poverty
Invoking faith in those hath bled
Can taste the droplets
Islamic mysticism curtails a darker poem
Satanic lettings
Of the American liturgic home
Cynic’s harkened repose to zen
The longing egotism envelope of world
I an artist
Must not pace my breath
For my thoughts as cold as stone
As heavy too
And can destroy minds
If only I let them too
Shade the fury in faithless trend
You want me to speak
This Bronx density I wake too?
No we rather huddle the sky rise enclosures
Of an intellectual Manhattan
Pop the music seeping underground
To steal our thoughts in Slavic silence
The dance of raping hawks
And some Catolic heart believes
She must entice the devil to unwind
And fake a modern woman
Elegantly devoid of faithful ties
Doth engender same in good faith relies
I can see through eyes
If only pretend their depth
Like sadomasochistic fashionista
Seductions of the gawking world
To recognize artistic beauty
Is oft destroy the soul
Alas the soul hath fallen ready
From the crucifix redress
The self a mere event
Objective analytic
A continent in distrust of the human fate
Enterprising architecture reprobate
To carry on the reason
Aloft the battles superstitious to instate
Depression mere space to mental rest
No human in the wake
For this is heavy
And the modern artist
Must lighten his expressive taste
Lest shatter minds
On the grips of concepts quite alive
In the fore seen air
What the fuck this cryptic knowledge
Fucking carelessly ensnared
Poets hang on nooses
Having slain themselves dramatic flair
Only place where anger feign sublimity
Save who’ve chosen
Not to understand those airs
They’ll mock in distant careless
And I’ll beg their mercy’s nails
To shiver all my nerves’ caress
And shake from apathy
Hath cradled me so sure
The child who will never leave you
Needs your nurture not your fools
Not your words like fallen hairs
The shavings of a mule
Stubborn on the desert howls
Its image to thy bones
Gazing vultures’ downcast eyes
Thy work a chip off nothing
Collective imitation
Quite clear artistic demise
The rebirth of childhood angels
Line the mezzanine of sky
We’ve forgotten of insanity
Boring out our lives
The artists pile everywhere
To wonder what has died
Now the global dawn has paired
Its set to its new rise
To wonder what we’ve left behind
In the ashes of our haste
That in the loss of our once mind
We’ve organized the majesty
Of Bohemian sprawling miles
We’ve divvied up the land
Organized parcels of medium
To straight lines of concept
Only worthy for an heir
We’ve relinquished all our thinking
Of expression
For the expression of a thought
Condensed in confine history
The childhood is lost
Sifting aura European nostalgia
August a city of angels
Canonizes the past
And emancipates the moment
Nude alchemy
Sparkling glass of city nights
Idealized frugal imagination
Of an artist’s starving sight
Once starving want of nurture
In the bellowing canons of divine
Now starving ideation
In the nurture of consistency
A professional loss of faith
Doth endear good faith in ours of times
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