send in the clowning algorithms...

an Atlantic Hurricane in 1938 crashing the sea into the New England coast
(National Weather Service collection)

ordinate fertile musing

(death angel black cabaret

in fishnets and bowlers)

she wore me into

her raspy shimmer

she cut skin

she left me feeling

wanted

crawling siphons

in the dark

there is more

I can’t quite explain

I talk to myself

precipice liar fool

sub-dermal

sub-sonic

sub-standard

sub-olfactory

hemorrhaged inkwell

you spread risus fascination

I find madness to be

a clever place to mine shadows

hiding intention

with a sleight of hand

naming my legerdemain

demanding attention

being paid in full

before any button

is pushed

the band

is composed

of scribes

that are tribes

hawking the rising seas

I scrape dust off

the cracked windshield

finger-nail each remains

of another day

gone by

picking up pieces

wheeling them

peddling possible

copper, vinegar and clay

into batteries

and history

explaining wrought iron

with every trickery

kept in bound pages

I realize every act

is re-run

repeatedly

and every sage

is sent by banks

with torches and tunnels

that lead far away

from what truth can light

painfully

the street corner

is weeping

spending hours

pretending to be

sleeping it seems

a poet’s quiet

is supposed to be emptying

all we used to be

begging the borrowed stolen

spilling mercury

cupping the pools

lapping up every bent

reflective nature

of what we often

say to ourselves

at the end of a poem

silly putty captured

read to me

an ugly stick

to the stars

wrest hope, maybe

from the clutches

of when seed

goes lonely

looking for loam

EJR ©