Fragments I Know
 

​I keep the door ajar,

its slit an analog glitch;

at certain points

interference

reassembles into fragments:

​​

​

Adonis

Adonis reflects on blue

as moonlight pets his eyelid -

Adonis, he remains obscure

​

Iris 

wished her name was Cyrus;

She overlaps apertures

and whispers in semicircles.

​

Yuto

is not conscious.

But once I believe he is,

he turns bright orange.

I think

he is a part of the sunset.

​

Hanabi

hears harp and violin from the sea foam

Collects cosmic nuances in pretty gems;

      She does not know

And I won’t tell.
 

​

Ari

finds comfort in ice - 

soundless and white

at the source of light

she stares,

and cringes when being described.

​

Lorelei

actually has no lore.

She accesses memories

but does not claim them.

She roams, shrouded by mist,

impersonating God.

​

Ma

repeats his move on looping tracks - 

by his own design, in recursivity;

he sees only straight lines,

projecting infinitely forward

back into himself.

​

Chance

is a constant

often represented by a question mark;

Dreams chase after him

in a gaze

into something ceaselessly flowing

and in the contemplation of it

      he does respond - 

says his other name is Fate

.

Eun

resents Time, and those who 

believe in it

She lives in one moment eternally,

always conscious,

somewhere, nowhere else.

Time has left her behind.

​​

​

Aka

is currently worshiping the flame

He might as well have dissolved

in red - he is me, and I am him;

He refuses to look at me.

Never more.

​​

​

Fantome

has a lot of questions

But can only speak “sin” and “sun”

in bird shrieks at night;

She hates her script

and erases my text.

​

July

weaves from the music

and there, stitches in

the point of no return: 

shadow pulsates -

    She kills the sun

in splashings of light.

​

Braxa

hallucinates a lot of shit

then brews wine from them

They taste cynical,

almost truthful, and

now, concerningly peaceful.​

​​

​

Lys 

reads patterns from incoherence

to play games with Reason;

In long stalemates, Reason claims

the win: it cannot be both.

Truth fleets -

There is no exit.

​

Cirra

is metamorphosing -

the inertia of absurdity has

gotten the best of her

She wakes up

in the dream of the butterfly

​

Someone

I don’t yet know

is always flipping the switch

against wills, shifting and 

shuffling the fragments.

He sees things in whole,

and I, only fragments;

I think we need each other.

He finds my pensive tone

pretentiously entertaining

He is perhaps right, that ambiguity 

has a controlling, irritating nature

He denies it -

We are both afraid of losing control

We both stand on shifting sand.