Conflict, Uncategorised

right to left, back again, from left to right

when I close my eyes, I see dead

patterns and codes, disrupted

redfi(eye)ne

sideways, glance, a chance to catch them in acts

reali(eye)gn

of betrayal, and manipulative, duplicitous

eroded. I take them and smash

them into each other, because

reco(oar)urse

the eyes, guides, sideways glance, entry point

reso(oar)urce

to the depth of their mind, soul, their very being

my brother, my sister

reddening

trust is earned, like crust of bread, a heart

chaos became the replacement

reckoning

given freely in return for a heart taken freely

for order, because

raping

serpent's liar, serpent's lair, bespoke deceit

my brother, my mother

revelling

those closest, most voracious, evisceration, the

chaos became the requirement

recl(shame)aim

acts

for order, because

refr(defame)ame

neighbours never suspected, in lines of newspapers

my mother, my father

restr(stain)ain

corrupted mind, conscience, absconded care, guilt

when I open my eyes, I see dead

reg(pain)ain

waiting for the fall, biding their time, watching, wary

codes and (greatest pretenders)patterns, interrupted

reconstruct

profile, sideway gaze, the giveaway, contempt pours

corroded. draw them to me, s h a t t e r

them against a wall, because

reinforce

forth

reduce

the fantasist, drawing parallels with the greatest deceivers

my father, my life

redux

tricks of well-honed trade, served unapologetically

chaos became the mis?realignment

forcing a wedge between reality and fallacy, ideally

of disordered order, because

drawing parallels between the serpent and the fall

of man

better to burn bright, than

not at all.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: Experimental. A Stream of Conscience , spliced, not really a cleave poem, but close - basically, I haven't found a good enough word or term to describe taking a few poems and smashing them together artfully. There you go. Also struggled with a title for this one. That's no surprise. But, feel...that is the closest to a proper title without taking the easy route out and calling it Untitled 450404 or something redundant. It also features words from Poppy's latest Prompts thingo -

A more detailed description of the image I chose to go with this poem:

Studio floor used by Jackson Pollock at the Pollock-Krasner House and Study Center in Springs, New York. The studio is in an old barn behind the house. Pollock had the building moved, put a wood floor down and used it as his primary painting surface from 1946 until his death in 1956. When he renovated in 1953, he put down a masonite covering. Krasner started to use the room in 1957. Upon her death in 1984, ownership was transferred to Stony Brook University, who removed the covering, discovered the old surface, and had it restored in 1987-8.