November 6, 2013

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 ©

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