the
serial genetics of our black wings
monotonies
in razor tremble
in
cricket prayer songbooks
in
the pews made of shadow
and
short night news cycles
Summer
is moving her lips again
and
I am making all the sounds
ghost
moaning exhales of Winter
in
Morse code calling
for
more of Her hands right there
breaching
my wheelhouse
turn,
turn, turning my view
into
soft mud covered gold
into
old barrel chests
with
iron clasping and locks
and
quiet looks that best say
come
get me later
right
now
enjoy
the spoils of reaching
into
the dead light of stars
and
tumbling with gravity
and
amassed solicitation
free
wills are the keys here
are
the jingle jangle jungle themes
the
zookeepers repeat in dreams
they
live in outer space
they
are rocket ships
and
angel whispered secret lovers
carving
faint memory into
our
thin blue cradled nest
our
water spun rock and leans
into
the Moon
into
this camera
catching
hunches
in
bunches of dejavu
as
everything we wee humans can think of
between
a clothed here
and
a naked there
are
mere footprints
are
the empty-s left behind
when
intelligent attraction
might
have been
too
much too soon to remember
to
feed our animals
without
fucking them first
as
sate begins
when
a full belly
lets
a soul know
what
hungry is
EJR
©
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hello there ...