Riano Harp Poems

Hit Title Date Added
1.
Circus Maximus And The Hilarity Of Contempt

Beliefs, -
I loosen my self from the high throne of visions,
Never to believe -a pronoun of belief- that it's much easier to be like that. There's a problem, all thoughts lead (the title is the estroise I will look at)to the sustenance of belief and mastery. Trust has layers, the transaction waits to be poached.
The words are belief and I have been deceived by the limits of faith, the path is constant - meditation is the microscope to infinity, I am in an infantile stage - lost in faith, I must trust what I don't understand and wash its vibrations. I can only tell my mother I love her as love is the resonance of all things, I am discovering the reason and truth behind these new urges of conventions that resist silk attires and search for watery alternatives, drenched in my miscommunication of nature for the future is apparent within itself-, it is the foundations for why I react - the strands of inspiration and expectancy, a fault is construded and love is the familiarity. The love used to track sunsets is the fault of my step — I will inspect the microscope for a disease in constancy.
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2.
The Waiter

Unprofitable death, stable intentions;
A transparent Earth -unstarven beauty-
Matched in normality as a mole in the galaxy;
Paupers relax in lactose vines and amylum silk,
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3.
Drunk Evocation

A dartling dove, drunken love
How sheepish my prime youth was;
Stumbling in faucet burns and viridescent playbells
MY mind was sent on French dirt.
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4.
Ailing Wood

The adolescent in robes of Jamaican lude,
Strip him! Strip him!
Futility reigns, the heavens beckon
For their lost creature of beguile.
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5.
Asinas (The Song Of Self-Hatred)

My mind is a withering concept,
Ideals are as real as breath;
Words are pale bodies that carry all thought and typical refuge
Of heartlessness - I despise myself.
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6.
The Crow

The Crow's flight to freedom
Was an impetuous attempt:
Defiled and cut by reason
He landed on crooked contempt.
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7.
Hangs The Man (A Sonnet)

Beyond the cusp of man's eternal bough,
On that curving lens where all women sow,
Hangs the Man, imbued with vines, with our brow
And dripping yolk, frowning before the glow
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8.
Infant Vanity 1/4 (4/16)

I

I have reversed myself to the most basic form of man's lament
And secrete in the bitter cusp of a child's torment, thought to be
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9.
In Spring

Puddles of tin, rains of lead
Flowers harden to plates
Of silver, gold, white and red,
All embellished in their states
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10.
The Draws

Littering the perfumes of her ethanol dress upon memories
The concrete elongations melted upon my genuflecting knees,
Niobe's sulpher scarred the green grins of the fleshy aquarium —
Dancing as smoke in the crowds thoughts, sorrow's anchors of the cranium
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