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painting by Van Arno ©
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tar
baby rapture
it
was Summer
the
concrete and brick row housed
apartment
buildings sweltered
when
July came a-calling
I
remember walking
to
the public pool
knowing
there was
this
old house
with
a basement
single
cell predecessor
to
the modern
slushy-banked-light-neon-come-on
convenient
store, along the way
walking
there, I smilingly knew
I
would be reaching
into
the penny candy
remembering this one time
when
a pack of messiahs
said
they could not find me
inside
the maze
of
my electrical guide wired thoughts
even
the preacher in the rafters
hanging
pictures of bearded robed men
and
going after the holographic gold
in
the empty pockets
of
my heavy carbon dusted robust soul
could not
find where my mind was at
I
used to think that divine love
was
all sweet and perfect heart-ed
that
it was all about
a
map-less compass assured-ness
dressed in Sunday’s best
I realized all too soon
mouth full of sugar, that
monsters,
inside and out
can
come calling too
especially,
when we are young
and
ready to swoon
now
I just feel love
is
only for the lucky
and
those willing to die
those
willing to sacrifice
with
subterfuge
because
something tells me
even
on this odd December day
as
the warm weather is surrendering
back
to the rakishly windy cold again
I could peel every
thick
layer of scarred skin
char my bones to charcoal
I could raise my hands
palm the sky
say with a wink
oh
love will thou
rain down me
I
need not know why
the
water turns
a thick and black licorice whip
spit out to where my blood stays
a
sweet immature iron
pining
for the kind
of metal birth
that
fire looks to forge
into
something a bit more
than
a handful of candied memories
in
a small brown paper bag
when
love did not seem so much
a
definable position instead of it
being
an entirety of side stepping
to
heaven in a soul’s slow stuck perdition
EJR
©
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