tingle, tangle too...

Joe Coleman’s Odditorium photo by Mark Berry ©

the torrid mass spectrometry of Easter madness

  

why does this world bleed

carving empty color for eggs

why does this world need

the march hares of misguided men

why does this world heed

the short fix of roofs

the bone houses leaning

toward burst and contraction

what is it I seek beyond words

beyond the blink of an eye

past information spat spittle fried

I can look out any window and see

teleprompters, spoken wheels

deals broken brokered

back alley abortions

and popular mechanisms

turned slow killing machines

I am that cartooned poet

daffy and loony

a smiled harlequinade

free to live mistakenly

away from all my friends 

I say to myself

sue me mirror

your opinions

are not family

I say I have no

brothers and sisters

to spare me a dime

and no I don’t mean ten cents

I mean something

I can get high with

something I can escape with

something with velocity

something that rips apart

the ripe of my skin

I realized

I left the television on

when I came back from

the supermarket

I heard it say

there are no houses

you can hide in, Edward

wherever I am, you are

every end will begin

your corpse petal erode

the mother lode of milk

waits wormed in salvation hymnals

so I shoot rubber bands

against the wall

pretending I bounce back

from the noise in my vision

over a trampled forest floor

the paper stairways to heaven

are what I want to rot with

as candy wrapper soles

say give me more of everything

that is bad for survival

and if by chance we live

past the night

we will beg, with you

for something else to ride

into the light

EJR ©