roasted by the dovetail curl at the small of your back...

yuletide frequency poem

(solstice standing in the doorway)

we heard the wee folk

thought we might be

what’s hidden in clay

found by sluice box fancied

our tongues and silt

the stories we told

when winter comes

(outside

the molecule stags

snort and cavort

with disguised

angels)

look they exhort

the humans wear the slag

the elephantine hollow

the lineages of wind

we say there are many ways

to cleave death

into a celebration of life

(they will put us in jars

if they are able)

the humans, they co-opt

take stranglehold of fire

as a clean release

they shorten communication

to dull meaning

to please membranes

in a long kelp sway

under the pulse amplification

of the yellow star light spectrum

they cause their blue sky mythologies

to bleed the rain

eat the amanitas

shimmer-cloaked shadows tell us

you’ll have a hit television audience to reap

snow covered pines

with their bent boughs

and stilled voices

know humanity is a ripened strength

of inevitable creep, current, rise, ebb,

finger and knead the pains cycle

(shopping is not hunting)

ring the bell

red kettle army

we are salivated salvations

the cost shares of skeletal burden

the apathy to care soul infirmary

housing the feeding 

of our every desire

we are why

the hearth is hung

with banter in the dark

pieced to the living green

we are why

the steamed glass

the hissing pots

the bubbles and spits

steal words

into songs

that connect us

to something shared

despite an inordinate

amount of differences

in how we see

what life can be

we are why

sitting somewhere

cornering wishes

every I

is a womb

that needs

to start crawling

this time of year

into the trees, seeds

and roots again

EJR ©