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It doesn’t matter the darkness in the clouds

Birds will always fly


Ad0ra Williams



Someone is being the spectator of me 

Having a conversation with myself


And it’s probably the darkest side of me


What would I do if I had the gift

Of levitating above the clouds?

Would I dare to ask why?


What if the fruit had been an orange or a pomegranate?

Would they have the shape of humanness within?


After observing the unending sleepiness of the welkin in between

The woes of the wicked and the awe of the gracious

I’ve become a trouper, bonding epiphanies to lucid dreams


Not every vox can convey cognisance 

Not every view can be transcribed into code 


I’m in mediate elucidation in my soliloquy

A longueur 


The orbs through which I see the vortex 

Are the wings of a Phoenix 

Bringing wisdom from the future 

Right into the past 




I’ve always been obsessed with complicated icons 

Iconic roses I grow in the backyard of my marbles


My marbles… I shatter them into a million pieces every day

Then I put them back together always in a different shape 

While I yearn for a Pax Vespertini’s delight

Anticipating, craving 


And when it finally arrives 

I pass them by 


I proceed to another Parnassian stargaze


No time for worldly caprices 

Unless it becomes celestial art in the canvas of a love night


Then I would triangulate the circle 



I’d visit the realms of fire for more than a sojourn

Meridian lines through the hours, give them a knot 

Future and past’s coexistence in my waters


An act of darkness would become ecloga material perchance

As my sensorial decays evanesce into the distance


But that night’s blueprint on the ribbon 

The aurora blurred 


And the prime artist forgot



I live for a dawn that was not

I reach on the ground imagery from above 

All beyond my range to never give too much light to the blue

The glaze of my mirror is sustained by the zephyr brume of a dusk

Lustrous Nocturne


Music point to the line of a sphere 

Sphere on the seeds, flowers bloom to words

Outré earthly gnomes halfway to the asteroid belt

A failed spaceship decayed to a chemtrail

Over Venus’ veil


Dripping concepts from a forgotten scope of time

From stainless silver dust in the outer space

From a fuzzy state of mind

From a woman that could never for too long 

Just say love of mine


Pondering on illumination

A ceaseless rummage for the secret on the last arcane 

Wrinkling forehead strives to reach the final marvel 

To understand all the tropes at the tropicos


I could just imitate the dream

I would love to love collisions for an absolute magnitude

I wish I had company

Yet, I’m just a lonely violet under an austere moonlight stream

My only escape is imitating the dreamer


But illumination is not a flair

It’s routine




If I could tryst with the elliptical in the golden hour

Perhaps I would find my swain from the stars

But I’m just a mundane poet 


I echo existence with words

Like my iconic roses


God to gravity

Gravity to galaxy 

Galaxy to orb

Orb to atmosphere 

Atmosphere to air 

Air to lungs

Lungs to heart

Heart to mind

Mind to mouth

Mouth to code

Code to art

Art to artist

Artist to dream 


The earth is the page where the water will create 

Life is the canvas where the artist will compose

The woman is the abode where life will dwell

A satellite to be lightened up


She will refine the light

She will be pleasant to the eyes 

Like a renaissance masterpiece

Whose artist didn’t spare the finesse


She’ll be tender in blaze 

A perfect fit to kindle the night

Adamant in a velvety éclat

The halo of a white gold star

Drawn with astonishing knowhow 


A circle that can’t be squared


Nine times nine stanzas muses circles in the high

You can make one mistake, but never make it twice 

The path of the middle is always the best choice


Two hypothetical denouements 

One is the hit, the other is the flop

Still, I found a third


Nine trips to Venus through a helicoid


The ace of hearts will always be the return 

Said Ophelia, on the other side of the blue

Through the sound waves that are the outliers 

For verboten words


Six trips to Saturn through the laurels


My thoughts get disheartened as the days get longer

I catch myself trying to go yonder time

And do something 


In a frame of time where the frame of mind

Is doing nothing


To lift existence from a never-ending torpor

To add to the aeon at least the narrowest line

To be reality in a dazed future


What if the wolves had gotten there first?

Would they have succeeded in finishing the picture?

Probably not much better 

As we’re all just a pursuit 

We’ve done just fine


After nine

It goes back to nothingness 

Thus, everythingness


The days of wine and roses

Poetry over the proses


One trip to Uranus 

On cloud nine




I wish I could fall in love with a simple man

Not a chronicler of self-realisations

Someone at the opposite end


So he balances my amarantine induced coruscations

So he lulls my contemplative ultramarine ruminations

Above the horizon outlier


Under the starlit sky

But not for the concept

Not to compose the scene

Not to counterfeit the Parnassus

Just for fluky delight


But I’m wandering the wonder of another ~

I’m in a visionary path in the space of the unknown

Fingering the Lyra while the ode trills the Venus in



While the collective - whether I play it safe -

Allows me to exist





There is something beyond me 

A beauty over all the sublunary shapes

A magic that’s never gotten lost in myths

Where I prompt myself to never leave


I live for something higher 

Such as the rare days when the sun lingers before it sets

Just seconds enough to ape the mother of muses

In me with the tenacity of the queen of the night

That raised earlier in the summer solstice

I amuse, delusional

Tales in verse


I live for something greater

The higher we go past the stratosphere 

The darker grows the blue of the matter

But the darker the blue of the matter grows

The lighter is the clarity in our dual galaxies 

To one it returns


(The ninth circle will clear to blue 

Liquefying light)


I live for the pristine wonder

A chamber of echoing pipe dreams 

Through the whims of perspective


Salamander on the candle flavoured star anise

I lighted in hopes it could light 

The Poetica in me 


And indeed it did




Constellate my Milky Way

Cinnamon the taste of my nights

Until it becomes sweet

Compose the landscape with me

Let us undo the genesis on the apple tree

And do it over, doppelgangerly

With a missing piece in the hologram

Which will allow the light to go on 

Half-mundane half-divine


A metaphor ellipse beneath the blue hour

Command my cruise to a dark matter supernova 

Follow me, jazz up my abstractions on love 

Orbit my vice recklessly


In fact, I’m just talking a blue streak

Pardon my French

My Greek is just imagery


But in the latitude of a violaceous state of mind 

Lure me and I’ll become a laureate Hellenistic rhyme 

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