from Romulus the chronicler...

Photo by Andrew Syred / National Geographic ©

the epithelial death of Lupercus

it begins in

the removal process

in a sequence

of carted red shift

remnants

no one remembers

who planted the bomb

after they have

already been

blown up thinking

whether or not

what they were

playing with

was going to be

explosive if given

over to neglect

and corrosion

as a matter

of weathering

right before

any sudden use

a poem as

a prime number game

a pornographic image

a posture to be corrected

something inside

psychotic insurrection

who what where

why how come

we get paid

to do that

movement

poems as growing cancers

I feel them personally measured

against my lack of motivation

to thrive or feel prizes beyond luck

skill is just practicing kills

without ownership issues

the poem as paper

old times reviewed

like a cabaret revue

what’s new

making glossy scratchy fog

patching what you wear

to mimic Joseph’s coat

of many colors

past the poem

the world

seems like everything

might be fitted

to pocket views

mastering cellular slough

they say Spring

is an ugly thing

in the eyes

of late Winter

wanting

the warm again

EJR ©