the
torpid luster insanity of October 5th 2012
what
a surprise
it’s
raining again in upstate NY
it
was such a nice day too
catching
the Sun from skies blue
but
then the clouds rolled in again
and
the North winds dug for skin
and
the leaves trembled
crying
out weeping colored hangs
it
is truly time to fall, they murmur
there
is not enough light
to
support the green
or
even the reds, oranges and yellows
calling
the razor-ed leans between
want every window open
and the doors closed
to the outside because we hear America
saying,
no, I am not a whore
even
when we all know she is
that
she wants more
more
oil, more guns, more security
in
the name of freedom
and
kingdoms come
even
us lucky enough to be here
are
careening in her edge water
Presidential
election year apocalypses
they
are splayed on the 11 o’clock news
every
day they mostly say it seems
you
must be afraid America
that
black man in the white house
don’t
know shit
he
was just the anti-burning-bush
which
is why he got elected
and
on the other side of this two dimensional coin flip
there
is a robot with good hair
and
a smile that says I’ll fucking kill you
if
I could get away with it
as
I am running for the scarecrow’s job
there
is only so much
of
this beauty pageant charade
I
can take before I tune it out
and
focus on Love or what I think Love is
not
that I ever thought I deserved it
I
still do not
I
was raised on desperation
crawling
for answers from the get go
it
seems I can survive anything
except
my own success
but
sometimes that’s a blessing
and
who is going to mess
with
the guy peeing in the corner
laughing
at himself anyway
you
might even turn around to the sound
of
a stream of urine
against
the damp cloth of the ground
fitting
itself into the rain
I
think the neighbors won’t notice
maybe
they will, but fuck it
I
am the crazy poet/slacker/absentee husband and father
living
next door and I like the landscapes
of
my own fantasies as opposed to doing what is expected of me
I
live for my own worded belly laughter
and
I like tapas served on the small of a woman’s back
perhaps
even the rest of her too
but
that part plates me to my core lust
and
thus my hands seem to always want
to
be around a woman’s waist
but
that is another story
as
sex and the glory of owning your desires
here
in America says , slow down , be careful
you
can’t say what you mean
without
sarcasm or a backdoor for the listener
a
painted sign that says I have
strung
the velvet hammers for chimes
hear
the silence after awkward go swoosh
we
celebrate greed in America
more
so than anything else
pontificate
it with bibles and
the
keeping up of appearances
and
we love on every hawk
that
swoops in to pin down
the
cure of rodents in piper songs
we
pump disinformation
to
the latest beats and tell you
be
yourself with the only caveat being
you
better look like everyone else
turning
the TV off can help
but
the internet is still on all the time
rendering
clocks useless
turning
time into the cage we damn ourselves to
I
can fuck myself seriously over this
I
mean who wants to know what the average rainfall is
in
the southernmost tip of Chili
well
I do, at least right now
maybe
tomorrow
I‘ll
want to know your number again
and
I’ll fantasize about calling you
hearing
you voice
imagining
the fine material
between
you and that small of your back
that
I lift up like a veil
at
an altar I want to worship at
or
at least to be a point of entry
where
surrender and conquer
become
the same thing
breathlessly
moaning without electrical aid
or
maps or a language that means what it says
when
saying anything takes me away from you
and
a moment I’ve constructed to keep reason at bay
EJR
©
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