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Hexterminators

Good day, my finely feathered friends and others! I do hope to find you and yours exceptionally well in these admittedly turbulent times. That said, sometimes a modicum of turbulence is required to reset/ optimize an aircraft’s flight path. Scientifically I doubt that analogy is any way accurate but poetically it’s comforting and its corresponding principle feels right. Feelings being of paramount consideration within the aerodynamics discipline, naturally.

I’ve another delightful double-dose disdainfully developed dourly for you. I’m enjoying the notion of publishing more than one poem at a time but every other or few days while fervently producing additional works in the interim. Thank you and Enjoy!


 

“Overlook”, June 4, 2020.

Ventilate your apprehension

Much as with soiled drawers

Struggle to vague comprehension

Of such daily chores

Fumigate this insurrection

Bleeding through your brain

Initiate disinfection

Exalt pristine rain

Sterilize the self-destruction

By whatever means

Start interior construction

Sow true magic beans.


To those curious, I did intend for Overlook to be viewed additionally as an allegory to the fictional hotel of “The Shining”. An homage and a warning, “spirits” notwithstanding.


 

“The Square Root of Fine (Just Tri), June 8, 2020

Catch found wanting

Needless flaunting

Crass and daunting

Complex fall

Benign pretence

Shatters defence

Costly expense

Daunting sprawl

Harvest pieces

Smooth the creases

Find what peace is

Crumble wall.


 

Three is an intriguing number. Lucky though bad things supposedly travel in them. Mystical, prime, not very many of something, the list goes on. I generally prefer even numbers for their sense of balance and their rigorous existence as dividers but three holds a peculiar draw and a curious egalitarianism. Or I have a gas leak and the fumes are working their insipid pleasures. Either way, I’m off!

Be kind to others please and yourselves. And again, racists please get fucked. Prison styles.

Happy Trails and Waggy Tales y’all.

-Alex Blaikie

Categories: poetry writing

Tagged as:

dReadpoetssobriety

A fractured mind held together by cellophane and some used tack.

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