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Proseful Poetics: A Sprite’s Song October 18, 2005

Posted by Matt Hurst in Uncategorized.
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Sprite sent my way by spirits unseen
Rollicking road block turn to detour
Flashing hazard like a shooting star
Rifles blaze in the muse’s eyes.
Demented and carefree like a carnival
Fun house of sliding staircases
Impossible to match steps with
But synchronous in their slope.
Tangent at obtuse angles, arguing
Metaphysical mean met at the mystical
Defined by tangled existential dimension
Flux in the wavelength of biometrics.

She flips my skewed perspective
like tarot cards in the Celtic cross.
I, the scientist, searching for soul
in the mirror of nothingness find everything.
Blank card drawn, meant to be
Defined by line, spirit color me in
Filling cracks in plane of existence
(Gluing together a split pavement).
She says things that make me sing
To the spirit above discovered within
Such as “Music will take you much further”,
Refilling my tank with melody and verse.

The sidewalk beneath her sparkles
like pearls underneath a landed mollusk.
Her wandering way in her boogie shoes
hit the dusty trail of gourds crunching.
Water chestnuts in steam rice chewing
Onto a bite to hold down hope
In birth with the misery miscarried
Ruptured infinity to collapse into itself.
All in reality part of the same thing
Actions and Consequences carried out
Beyond what I can see
She pulls me back to observe.

Intersected possibly to continue onto
uncharted distances met in a moment.
Or two spent in vivisected point
of view into those infinite eyes.
Does she realize if this means
Anything, or is it everything?
None of it maybe meant to be
Put together towards the end
Of the line segmented by empirical
(Assuming there is a singular truth)
Presumptions on either part relative
To an experience seldom understood.

So I’ve been listening to say
When the moment might come
That we recognize mortality’s
Bang like a snare drum.
Trapping a wave on a pool
Flowing through time and space,
Where only infinity rules
And we find our own place,
In the order of the spectral
Haunted by opportunities missed,
She is the prism of spectrum
Separating only to unify – synthesis.

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Comments»

1. sweetdagger - October 19, 2005

The words are that of a lonely boy who hasn’t had the patience to find a proper muse. A more intellectual muse.
Or even someone who feels more
wanted.

2. sweetdagger - October 19, 2005

As for the poetry itself, I have thought a lot about it and have formed a few opinions within. I’ll save that for coffee-drinking. It’ll be more constructive and sincere.


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