the conscientious coptic
speaks in symbols hidden
within decades of deception,
and the conscription of common sense
reflects a ribbon threading
itself into the context of our continuity.
the belief in a specific orthodoxy
resonates within the fuel of fissures, patience
as permanence, a ricochet silhouette.
our enterprise has morphed into a myopic
cohesion, the elegance of opportunity
a period of waiting for the sea
charged the casual observation, which concludes a forged chapter
within the point of completion, a moment which
required a simple, returned phone call.
the chaplain who confirmed for one and all
may not claim a conclusion on his own terms.
and yet this conveyance of civility would mark the compulsion
of every conflict that began to separate us
from the possible.
we have experienced the peripheral inception
the responsibility of a reciprocal evolution
encompassing an exact calculation.
each moment which parses a perpetual conversion,
becomes a perplexing situation –
a conscious decision- to contemplate
the correction of an inherent influence.
there are exactly 17 paces between the two points
of recollection and it’s final cancellation,
a follicle of temporal permanence reveals the reaches of grace,
a gradual acceptance of consequence.
each pillar that once was meant
to carry the weight of a voluntary subscription,
surreptitiously crafting an extreme position
a most trepidatious transition
a precious antiquity provides the primary motivation
it’s defiance the overriding trait which reveals
a constant barrage, the tire squelch, the sequence
of events beyond our control, individual lyricism
being sacrificed for the whole.
a mirrored dichotomy perplexes the state
of our affairs. are the accomplishments their own courant?
it’s insouciant contraband, it’s gregarious panache
only interrupt the perilous balance
the bridge goes up
the bridge goes down,
our commencement of acceptance
belies the cardinal conventions
of all our belated berths,
within cascades casually reminding the
congregation of it’s exemplary restraint
if every intention was a precise
we’d find our own collection
concise upon reflection