Roadsides

Photo credit: Daniel Fierro

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These poems may contain surrealist influences/elements/dreams.

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T the warped theories of his are deliberate; proto//cons

untitled talk of the stream in his head, a reawakening of death & all his shining fears

.richter A stellar palladium of incense & post-mortem signage

/.bl./ & to the grasping of innocuous & the binocular // tasteful renditions of that overwhelming gin of giants

oceanpoem Ordinary motions hide behind the furnace No, my world does not burn Instead, lucid calls for the ocean

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ÂŠ 2014 Daniel Fierro

songissoul River swells // Apoplectic in a tide is not the wavering // Blunt overtures, these tender motifs

rectify Lemons in the wind & I rebuild a temple gaining effervescent come the sides & disclosure of our most insipid filters

soothe-song sit & wait, sift through the after-chaos // sit & fade, lift up through the appendages

acclimating Data-streams engage particular city-sites of this flippant fabricated & the walls mutate into corrosives misnomers soothe-delaying frosts vociferating in the wake of this loss

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ÂŠ 2014 Daniel Fierro

wires synergies of the like & fright-founded // we lost touch with figments & island elementals // my brief disconnect when his sounds were ordinary

(x)isradiated Thieves in Catalonia // Respite for the bullet-king // Voices built into the fixation-machines = Closer to home, Closer to home

4/1 Bright in the machine, the otherside is spinning into plastic avenues That helpless nostalgia sitting in the metro is worth two gallons of silver & paint We progress into dilated & diadems

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4/2 The cylinders in my brain burn down In a clockwise manner, my days are withering forts Latitudes & a late-night cache

4/3 These new-age incidents are unlike A fortress conundrum of pairs, scissor/soars Troves of sanity or serenade delicatessen

4/4 Our proxy is a branch this time Solemn collectives of wait & double-ends Circus-inevitables in a weighted battle for technocracy

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4/5 The sword as a peripheral Indicated on the tabs & low-fi filter Redemptive leaps & sample flowers

//m The machine is a mother when she vibrates w/ the vertebrae of the universe & when a canteen of I-will-not-hold-you ricochets into the depths of it or leaves pass of it, we’re not lost animals anymore

ghosts again I have ghosts in my eyes, this inward motion is too delicate to taste a bleak incandescent to mark the year of the departure while a throatless desert to mark the years that followed

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(v) the distance between metal & sundry a rusty kick flips my tea, these mornings are fleeting stimulants my impulses are sonorous, interrupting the water-sons in my dreams each night

].41[ A synth-cooler for the dark ages of adamantium & singular intestine-friends // This is not a test-run of my oxygen but a worthwhile piece of iron-gate for my partner on the train

rounds, howls Saddled in a bottle tone of urology & epileptics Cemetery visuals of when the mystic-boy walked into my house His wild kept in the distance, the bay The men of that world were cubically sized, idolatry incidents

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pull up the dust the rising allergies of the queen & her pneumonic brood welcome the space in sands & acquired gilds west & torn birds & throne

decanter traces of continuity escape me this season there are spines in the airports, all waiting for flights to France good luck to the windmills & the shame

cages in the pantheon When wind breaks bread w/ its lofty sayings, I am an obtuse one I //cataclysmic robot-types in coriander(ed) suppositories The 4/a.m. in my routine is a modern is a version

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the wandering nerves Threads of summer break the monogamy & all I see are oceanic-like trips to the forests, to New York in a night of winding down by the electric

in-chaos We shift colors in the windfall & my dreams invite death to my bed again Myself Not myself An odyssey of sound & city-friend-illusions

As in, so above Run to the airship, this intake is a deluge / I was a hand on the clock last night, color-correcting our decades / The ransom is in the frost, Love in the taut

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talus Declare yourself & then walk away Channels will substantiate The dark will intimate & I’ll trace the zip line back to [you] Catastrophic sorts of men run into my room each morning; quarter moons & tropes of fate, delighting in monsoons

Fistula Towers of impending; a second wave intrusion Remember it again, screens ticking Ghosts in the agitating A cleansing of the lemon-palettes & our emotions will be back after the break

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3//gold the replicate is an unusual force of calligraphy the sun analogy is close to a thousand -ended last night’s dream was a wither; an old friend dialing in my lungs

The reign is over A proliferation in cask & sated-song Likely teachers hone the purported catalyst The gory-sighed breaths we shell from are known, a convex

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[détente] Columns of red placed before the anatomy of these constant visions Mine, in a coalescing His, in a mirror of heresies Rectangular & then some, Withheld in herringbone, in song

plains upon the prince & his many thieves, I stood on strange times & a strange haze when foundations broke in the middle of new names ashes to water in a heaven-reminiscent ashes to spark in a low-ascend while we wait out the last of our sicker-sense

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the close An aortic run of the mill The sunrise is dented & a collective of soft controls wait at inlay I’ve tried salting the teeth before learning my lessons Before histories shrivel up into petty blossoms for the elder trees

floating the enemy Cut the cords of magic & my stomach drops down to a wintry apogee of weather-scans Solely for the efforts of the delighted & the creamery Up north for the suture is a wind-bell, cascade in shell

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fixations Ascensions into after-thoughts of my mother rung & her belated friends This crisp airway procedure is a trust, a ridicule for the parts of myself I’d give in to the lemongrass Forcible crash in two spindly creatures fuzzing before a.m. ruptures

callous-scented Erased from the proverbial meat-sack, we become integers; foiling plots & the tethersome // Shake me until I’m a metal core for the cityfuturists to use // That coastal vision where the breeze is a glaze or a crisp-like afterthought

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sunday-poem learning the art of secrecy in a tower-bend of false words & general voices // the hum-drum of my condemnation is a devil-man sleeping // some (silent)pop for that long road home

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(geist ii) [loading second take… //.structure-sound depleted /varying forms of magnitude //ocean waves to pull you in /an act of solitude to recall that first flight into the lights //no more fear(less) /some of the coastal towns were in my visions //the post-chaos era is on my left hand /shock for the system worthy //re-constructing walls /a lemon-esque blackout for the impending satellite-dance //my hinges are on shaky asphalt /one for the plenty, two for the many. …uploaded to data.log]

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For my grandfather (1926 – 2014) (sun in your eyes) An era of dust & constellations is at an end & I’ve seen him at the door Free to roam the void, I’ve known All of these quiet tendencies belong to you So don’t move too quick as you go before the chill of this mourning takes the calm Speak easy, you rest & I’ll rest in gratitude.

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Thank you for reading.

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