masturbating,
unabridged
I
never know what my fingers
are
doing when I am grasping
at
straws to find poem-needles
in
the haystacks
they
frenzy on the key taps
into
give backs taking slack and
pulling
at the taut fantasies
of
wealth building schemes and
smalls
of the back and
wide
hipped leans
into
the clay mortar and
broken
glass at my foundries and
recycling
plants, ideas and images
are
the flowers sown by accident
instead
of reverence born
from
crawling to places
most
won’t want to think about
let
alone, bend their snout enough
to
kiss every place the ground
has
gotten to know
everywhere
we’ve been and
everywhere
we’re going to be
exhaled,
moaning our idolatries
EJR
©
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