Aristotle Sinclair

In Issue 4 on October 31, 2009 at 7:57 am

Dual Realization of Illusion’s Many Findings

My dream awoke me.

I in a dark room.

Standing, I wrapped my arms
around contours of the room’s
sole emotion.

On the black-blurred length
of the curtain’s frail physique, a

The shape was an unknown dimension.

Similar to a story told while wearing
a hood, though humidity required
further explanation.

The open mouth of heat
warned of the warmth made worse,
as my hood became more intense,
wrapping its strings into a glorified

I awoke from awakening.

On my bed, a puddle of an outline,
a body’s curled outline.

Darkness dissipated.

On the frail physique of the curtain’s
now clarity, a shape:

distance had drawn a shadow, relaxing,
leaning a soothing semblance
of prior position of secondary


Away, her breath whispered,
hands of my ears
grasped at nothing, whisper
broke into collective inexistence.
Her back
became abstract, a wall of fissures
and holes, allowing stone to resemble
bones of an acclimated body
though distance has outlined with
blur and re-identification.

Unknown of the Elemental Excellence

Earth was an empty room
required nothingness
to survive and inhale
tones of ontological
consciousness. She lived
and loved the absence
of fully-clothed language.
Her naked tongue spoke
only truths of invented
purpose and necessary
thread count. I entered
her earth, here in a room of
desolate landscapes. As
I spoke into her slightly listening,
my tongue approached slowly
as to not alarm the perfect being
with inability to posit propaganda.

Intellect of the Blindfolded

The poet stated
he understood genius
as the corporeal manifestation
found when lifting
the bodiless body
of a stillborn stone
bludgeoned by bountiful
remarks of wind’s scolding
as the poet gently
repositioned the dead stone’s
altered body,
the silhouetted shadow
of the ebony-curled, white
striped stone
spoke a language
unseen by the closed eyes
of the genius without

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