My voice fades to uncertainty Self attenuates/disolves/diminishes/ I unfold
In the spaces of hesitation between mind and body, essence and existence
I am sleet rain driven against a rubric of posies, each drop of self explodes
Indeterminate cell structure, an acquittal of my imposed humanity
I am dawn risen above a helpless exposure of scorched earth
In the landscape of the desert sits a bedstand
Stained with scotch, droplets of blood, and evaporated faith
Time sits next to a small handgun in its drawer
Emptied of everything, other than intention
Lucid, muse, I have become my father
Sans the heroin, happiness, and the discomfiture of the mental institution
I am the disjunctive synthesis of abandonment
In an age of promises, I have long since turned to stone
The memories of ghosts have become the foreboding
Of my consciousness, groped by the extremities of fools
A sphere of relentless dysfunction forced
To perfection, through an aperture of time
I am the point of departure
Stepping beyond the oedipal matrix of cultural law
I am the imprint of Zero, the shape of days to come
I am my own dominant fiction, my instincts
Honed from undifferentiated energies (cathexes)
My plane of implication shreds through
The panic of a textural madness
Through the tender, primordial fission
Spit into fragments of asexual reproductive process
An isotope of desire, revealing
The singularities of my commitments
Bearing the weight of the counter cultural truncheon
I peer through anthropological space
Beyond the horizon, into a haze of moveable text
A metalanguage excoriates an intentionless sky
At once the retroactive illusion of blindness is lifted
For the first time perspective becomes conversion
The high functioning autistic daughter speaks of symbols
Writes of light, the deception of her father finally realized.
© Copyright 2010 Justin Lee Brown aka Desiderata
Justin Lee Brown lives in Los Angeles, Califrornia with her four beloved dogs, a million books, and a piano. When she’s not working to support her poetry habbit she spends her time composing music, painting, sculpting, illustating, and writing the odd tracts of flash fiction.
This is very strong, powerful writing, and makes one think, which is a rare quality these days!
This was an instrumental masterpiece..like a classical piano crashing onto ones head, which is an ideal that is not fully detected to the end of the piece when you find out she composes music and has a piano and a million books…and then pow…the piano hits you like your name is Wil E.
Time sits next to a small handgun in its drawer
A sphere of relentless dysfunction forced
To perfection, through an aperture of time
I very much enjoyed the correlation between these lines..as if the sphere of relentless dysfunction that she says is forced to perfection through the very same device that sits next to the gun in the drawer..Time…
Incredible words with indescribable power and intense emotions this writing creates.