January 23, 2014

squeeze the water, palms full of fish...

photo by EJR ©
patience in a ladder lattice

a Lazarus rasped
in ice falls
winter is
a quiet coffin cold
a spooky place
where my old thoughts
go to die
and my new thoughts
first crawl
they are dancing
between silver
and shadow
my soul automates
a survivalist gyrate

is my mind
altered enough
sewn or stated
a stand
of biographical trees
languages, limbs, leaves
am I carved bark
and knees
eager initial fingertips
am I only
a reach for fetish footwear
and masks
how do I climb
between ash and snow
between fires
and twine tendril spawn prayers
between my lips
and my tongue
between what
my articulations become
tiny cuts feeding
passages, poems
and ores I've stored
as my rest assured
somewhere in some life
of mine, before
or yet to be
I have meaning
meant again
for spring


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