I dreamed I fell asleep in a sarcophagus…
after swallowing intoxicating thoughts of martyrdom and a coming apocalypse,
like oxygen traveling down my esophagus
mulling over pellets…
and cartridges
contemplating Ancient Egyptian encrypted inscriptions
for prescriptions
and their usage of the uniquely symmetrical feathers of an ostrich
coupled with their affinity for the lotus-like a botanist
I go into, deep trances of travel, but for now,
any hypothesis is pocketed
for when more time in the sublime can be deposited
decoding formless images from my third eye’s oculus
realizing any pursuit of happiness I once admitted to
and conceived of, can’t be reminisced without an asterisk
wondering if,
a spiritual life could be more than obscure and monotonous
or had I even began that lifestyle yet,
had my desire for instant gratification become too dominant
trying to, make too much senseless sense out of senselessness
revisiting the resulting consensus of a carnal thirst quenched versus
how a life of moderation-
no attachments, and sensual deprivations
can somehow seem so preposterous
could I, choose and discern beyond what isn’t already visually obvious
or is my attempts at self-restraint a half-hearted mockery
detailing my own hypocrisies
this unyielding feeling fills veiled shields like windmills,
which till fields, and tilts and stilts, instills chills, distills thrills
and peels reels of still hills,
as both height and depth equally builds and feels so ominous
because my scattered pursuance metaphors the same littering of various condiments
just to spike my responses to my ebbing confidence
chasing shock values for fraudulent acknowledgment
inconsequential accomplishments
and
nostrums for self-inflicted problems
exhaled out my flared nostrils ad nauseum
until nauseous yet noxious and obnoxiously posturing
as emotions have become more and more disconsolate
too much homage to the mirage of impermanent gods
and opulence-
consecrated and idolized like Amen Ra
I need a-
literal miracle, a physical sign,
not just lyrical drivel, but a spiritual symbol
my name evolved to WayOfLife
as I, hold up my Ankh as a monument
for my own innocuous symbol of an ancestral historical and ethereal conduit
while my day to day plays in a mix of gray shades haze and opalescence
bounding through rifts and this mystifying mist of imbalanced emotions,
a lost self, and patterned mind trips, amidst oppositions and consequences
mine mine mine!-apostrophe
I’d be remiss
if I didn’t admit that I’ve sought exits
when I didn’t feel as if,
I truly ever existed
I need less syllables,
more sounds,
more vows and less consonants
I need less country
and more continent
less promises
and less prominence
more community
more common ground
more more more continuity
more commitment
more high morale
and more moral competence honestly
then, I raised from
things dreamed, praised, preyed on, and prayed for
in my sarcophagus
taking in and letting go-
the deepest breath of a new revelation’s oxygen
walking to a park silently,
where I would
ponder skipping rocks across a pond, reflexively reflecting
on the void in my heart and the emotional lump in my esophagus
intuiting purpose and divine intelligence constantly at work working within my consciousness
and those rocks I skipped
were really pellets
from dissected cartridge
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