to
keep from feeding the animal
I am
nectar
hunting
a
burning
in
the Easter grass
my
memory spins fast
past
woven
colloquial
safety
and
parochial
expressions
all
bunched
and gathered
I
torch-rapture-carry myself
in
a harried hurry
to
the summit
in
the dark
in
a frenzy
crawling
with
help me
tapping
the conductor wand
for
any movement to begin
can’t
stop the monsters
they
call each piece of silver
to
find a day of the week to haunt
as
they grind
the
slow evaporative
execution
song of my soul
beneath
my chase
of
beauty in remnant
broken
pottery
all
the industrial harmonies
are
the soft pierce of knives
in
the wind
and
I am
pieced
together
a
tattered sail cloth
with
holes poking
through
what illusion
I
use to feign passage
through each this
until I can no longer
stand
still
or
stay
mother
nature
is
on lead guitar
She
is screaming
into
the spaces
between
my electrical divinity
and
giving up completely
on
what my dreams
can
do when
I
believe in them
wither
is
my
sorrowful death
and
it is
in
refrain
warm
licking
every
surface
with
the fine toothed
dust
of a slow tided
reminder
in
the sand
that
no matter
how
clever
or
mad
I
am
I
still can’t
make
it rain
without
asking
for
something
outside
my
comfortable
cage
EJR
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