The Tempestuous Gent

wending your way across the astray spray of galactic aeons,
on the wings of love, guided by the mystery of wisdom,
musing eyes tear down the gathering night with a yearning
fluttering to heights where the blues of asphyxiation powers
up to a fuga of excruciating inebriety;

as a fiery breeze you take off, answer to a hunger beyond
definitions, razing the wicked pretentions of voluptuous
mermaids whose ashes now crumble as sluds of gangrene
down towards their last resting place in the umbrage of
jaded wreckage blossoming the frigid vulva of hell.

while mining for gossamer ore, invisible hands push you
around funerary inaugurations that stare blind and mute back,
and shove you on mossy crossroads into stalemate ends
where exorcism nor redemption are meaningless -

weaving in boredom the strands of your own hallucinatory journey,
lungs with nicotine ectoplasm, too much caffeine in the bloodstream,
and bones eager to perform an atrocious waltz, no torpid mood
incapicitates your zest for jazzy rhythm that cracks the whip on
the blue funk, and applauded by none, you flick your charm into
a marauding grin.