Three Poems by Napoleon Nalcot

False Alarm

Everyone at 360 degrees bent for reflex.
Diameter: 143.5 mm.
So this was why the rounder it gets, the more it
Morphed into a sleek of dark oceans
Like a perfect dose of buoyancy
Someone’s plotting circumference.

There we scout some vistas, clockwise
And in a graceful turn
Twice the stabilized
Virtually opposite
Of the same

Imagery of space and fluidity;
As long as it occupies
A horizon of focus
360 degrees
Point blank

Easing off to the boundaries
Of prying into–

The Cluttered Neon

Dissecting a gaze
like something you found quite unexpectedly
in the puzzled
entrance towards
a heavy sky
of permanent orange
of spaces and time
the framed photograph
that hanged
in depth and dimension

The wall
that divides
unfathomable windows
the dim in the wake
of keen observing
released with false brightness.

I will come again
to keep an eye
the copy
of what
I’m gonna

In this gap
that connects.

The Birth of A Poem

The precise. Absurd. Strips itself anew
Without a word to say yet explaining
Where the opened mouth is about to devour

For what one finds directions: if x is without a clue
And y is sartorial neurosis mixing up real life
With fiction; you couldn’t even call it forest

But, perhaps, just another darkly secrets
Which are also emerging on the catch and crouched in wait
Walking up right to this, but what is it?

Exactly, the muttering at dusk with alternating turns
Became a hum on a gnarled globe like something
In the shock—

In shadows and crevices with no sense of dread,
Yet nothing took its place identical from the itch.
The birdsong now: utterly.

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