March 1, 2014

between the ebb of winter and the flow of spring...

illustration by Pauline Baynes ©

Bacchus and Tumnus drive consumption

while I pretend
I am not
allegorically fantasizing
about being divine
consciously or otherwise

I am crawling for little root Spring

lions
always eat
the lamb
grasses
witches
always wear
sound wounds
and wombs
always clothe
the wardrobes

Narnia, Lewis
knew me too well
voices I heard
were desires grown
into their own
kingdoms animalia

here in my salvation army America
I am a stray cat and mouse tree
a theater goer who pees
wearing a mask and adagio
I seed my soul
with crusades and holes
going round and round
in a song of forever
that germinates
by subscription farm
and factory installed lever

I sing
I am what germs ate
what became
of gargoyles on plates
I am bloomed taste
what’s needed
what’s propped perched
and promised
what is mythology
and garden tools
I too, fool with
why gnomes and
mushrooms matter

here Lewis
modernity and America
are not the same
here, I pretend to care
I distend my stomach
feed-bagging logic bared
I dance for manageable
for chaos, hope and quest

here Lewis
I arrest my bones
by not reading
sometimes
watching life
speed by me

thought I admit
I always read your shit
Lewis, it makes me reminisce
about a beat boxing
philly break dance style
a late seventies
royal to tyrannical
early eighties again
coming to get me as friends
tin ceiling-ed in lined
owner occupied
a trickle down clown piece  
somebody’s last supper meal
something to feel is peel and skin
an assorted well worn thin
a felt fiber sewn way in
the story I pass around
creased to measure time
when needed

to invest
and intoxicate
to realize
and escape 
between lines
between vines
and tines
between lights
and burrows
grottoes and
boot licking
between heel shows
I go to
when I am tired
of playing myself
a raw feast
for the beast
inside me
between the tops of tables
and what I gamble to the floor

EJR © 

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