the
slow brick building of a late Summer still life
the
honey drips
warmed
on a plate
near
the window
I
cask every ripe
in
my fields
of
flowered memory
woven
in wind
and
splashed with
cut
eye sunshine
pollen
in the weeds
is
the crows cawing
saying
you have to
feed
now
the
throats
are
all bare
and
the blood
is
rushing
to
the skin
like
diamonds
caught
in
fallen
star landscapes
gravity
has created
every
shape
in
our desires
with
the
occasional car door
closes
in the warm air
licking
the tipped yellow leaves
playing
the velvet cymbals
clapping
in their delight too
as
soft cries for
bleeding
means
dreaming
another
embrace of loam
thirsty
again with
pockets
turned out
to
the fertility of rabbits
the
easy fur
and
fast muscles
turning
the warren
into
a world
of
let go principles
slot
machine dynamics
chancing
the spun thoughts
of
little black dresses
immersed
in each
of
their smells
wanting
more
than
just a handful of eyes
that
we might throw
as
bones to see the future
when
caution in the mortar
says
hold on tight
the
night is still eating
its
way into you
EJR
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