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Unincorporated Insights
What context contributes toward meaning?
What illusive patterns outline our thoughts?
What process prevents mindless careening
Into tangles of intangible knots—
Into the depths of deeply-rooted seeds
Of imponderable definition?
And what flower does theodicy breed
By the threat of holistic omission?
What cryptic mysteries do we express,
Though in traces of vagrant memories—
Perhaps causing us to hide and repress
Them beneath our transient reveries?
What codex—so voiceless—do we create?
What emergent grammar elucidates?
What emergent grammar elucidates
The syntax of our juxtaposition?
Why must we meander and gravitate
Toward the pull of blank exposition?
We speak in indefinite articles,
Communicating as a formality?
Our dreams are overlapping particles,
Transposed over strips of reality.
Our intellects are woven by conflict,
Disproportionate threads that braid our lives.
Ideas coalesce to contradict
Where what we call logic attempts to thrive.
We design ignorance, always preening
The language that has been intervening.
The language that has been intervening
Interrupts the words we would like to say,
Mercilessly and stringently cleaning
Our voice, removing what viewpoints convey.
Therefore, we conjure the chiffon lexis:
A vagary of coded expressions
That dilute our colloquial axis—
Our terminology of discretion.
We relinquish comprehension and
Dilapidate whatever we might learn
In the grip of the Invisible Hand
Which guides us to our tenuous concerns.
All the while, idiocy saturates
With our illocutionary mandates.
With our illocutionary mandates,
Why does anyone make sense anymore?
Verbally, our tongue only translates
All the talk that has been spoken before.
We erase our culture with social platforms.
Our lives are forced to conform to the contours
That more often confuse or misinform—
Drawing images we ought to ignore.
We are bound to the art of artlessness,
Secured to an emptiness that lingers—
Taught that obsession will lead to success,
Explaining ourselves through index fingers
That point to nowhere (nowhere completely) .
For what reason do we speak un-freely?
For what reason do we speak un-freely,
Relegating ourselves to elision?
Our motives are spoken clandestinely,
Enshrouded by baseless omission.
As zombie hoards packed in a ballet box,
Groaning for a persona non grata,
Our disheveled culture carelessly stocks
Its thoughts of banal desiderata.
We replace facts with comforts and patterns.
We substitute our fate for the future—
Devoured like the many sons of Saturn,
Relinquishing our delineature.
We dismantle our bloodlines and unions,
Cauterized by divergent opinions.
Cauterized by divergent opinions,
We remain stagnant as our lives progress,
Similar to the hipolimnion—
With its waters still, aching to express.
The erumpent and sluicing fluids
Of understanding and dialectics
Flow in a stymied, wholly languid
Way when we need something apoplectic,
Something fluttering with violence and
Roaring with rage and swooning with romance.
Let us not pretend that we understand.
Let us be carried away as the advance
Cavalcades, washing out redundancy.
Are we blinded by irrelevancy?
Are we blinded by irrelevancy?
Do our apotropaic impulses
Blacken our natural radiancy,
Fading each ray of light as it pulses?
Why do we sous rature our honesty? —
Filtering it through the media's veil,
Fearing the release and the amnesty
We want, letting resignation prevail.
Why do we design newer deities
That deafen the voices that long to speak?
Why not relieve pressing anxieties
And articulate meaningful critiques?
There is no reason to be a minion
In the realm of persuasive dominion.
In the realm of persuasive dominion,
We are grinding in mechanized fittings,
Smashing in the roll of pressing pinions,
Watching as our heads— crushing and splitting—
Massage into a rouge polish for gears.
Our thoughts slowly gloss over orange rust—
Now crusting with our suppurated smears—
As the accruements shift and readjust.
Why do we pancake our skin and our bones,
Flattening our pursuits and our passions?
Why melt each other to produce clones
Portioned to consume commodity rations?
As we instill and install these values,
Fallacies that we believe in argue.
Fallacies that we believe in argue,
Challenging each other—conflicting lies.
Veracity wallows out of our view—
In either a subterfuge or disguise.
We become confused, trying to translate
The coded hieroglyphics that carom
Over lofty expectations— to spate
Our process like a gyrating maelstrom.
Glabrous, fulgurated electrical
Strikes beam through the core of the whirling storm,
And the skies rain an antithetical
Slathering as the dry climates deform.
The weather is forced— through harsh coercion—
By the Holy right of their assertions.
By the Holy right of their assertions,
We permit more for a selective few—
The few that would live by their dispersion;
The few that dispel, for others, virtue;
The few that show an eidetic éclat
In our too-nictitated memories;
The few preaching their secular Salat,
So that we may bow to their glories.
By the Holy right of economics,
We accept their pure Word as Biblical,
Building pietistic ergonomics
That subsidize on the unnatural.
They pardon their afflatus as it spews,
Disseminating what is maybe true.
Disseminating what is maybe true
Causes us to scatter ourselves like seeds.
Our promulgating ideals will strew
Themselves, rooting within our pseudo-needs.
We watch them knot and snarl beneath our feet,
Disheveling the ground on which we stand.
We watch the branches, gnarling with conceit,
Above our heads as they shadow our land.
We watch the ossified stem sprouting out,
Latching onto the world with a vice-grip,
Standing firm as cement, both thick and stout,
Causing terra firma to bust and split—
And, yet, it withers by our desertion
In the hysteria of exertion.
In the hysteria of exertion,
We become moribund and bellicose—
Buoyant with undulating derision,
Palliated by a ravelment of woes.
Our muted, quiescent panic twinges,
Cascading over the peace we pretend.
Our intuition tears at its fringes
While we berserk, bicker and condescend.
The lacuna, the bedlam, the terror bursts
Like stampeding, bionic wildebeest.
We receive a chaos that seems rehearsed
Rather than a real entropy released.
As these trappings bellow in the still night,
The grays of thought trail to the blacks and whites.
The grays of thought trail to the blacks and whites
As if they were catfish crawling through dirt.
Sprawling though they are, they are out of sight,
Pressuring the mud to remain inert.
They prevent an untold calamity
By refusing to sift their skin forward,
Relaxing where there is conformity—
Though fear makes them thrash about and wayward.
Their quaking tremors of brash distemper
May break us from our rachitic foothold,
Hushing our antinomian whimpers,
Showing us that control is uncontrolled.
We tremble, not knowing we are their might,
Forming unincorporated insights.
Forming unincorporated insights
Makes us define ourselves by dramatics,
Inundating our mind's durable lights
For the tenebrae of post-pragmatics.
Our shadows shape like parabolas
Over the structures of our ignorance.
We provide each other a blank atlas
That maps the pathways of disappearance,
Landscapes of the nervus probandi—
Whatever we have lixiviated.
We compose in dissonant glissandi,
So all notes can be asphyxiated.
The whole time we ask: What is redeeming?
What context contributes toward meaning?
What context contributes toward meaning?
What emergent grammar elucidates
The language that has been intervening
With our illocutionary mandates?
For what reason do we speak un-freely,
Cauterized by divergent opinions?
Are we blinded by irrelevancy—
In the realm of persuasive dominion?
Fallacies that we believe in argue
By the Holy right of their assertions,
Disseminating what is maybe true
In the hysteria of exertion.
The grays of thought trail to the blacks and whites,
Forming unincorporated insights.
poem
by
Tim Stensloff
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