March 2, 2014

singing the body electric...

painting by Erik Thor Sandberg © 

dryads and the old man

recite thus
poem to
and cut
ready skin

it wasn’t about you
or me nor yours
or my relativity

we both knew
it was spawn
or undertow
material evaluation
we were worth
part hive
and solitude
standing in front
of the mirror nude
drapes askew
and pulled aside

we were always
going to be
fresh meat sometimes
a sown ripe waiting
watering the wine
wading white noises

we would always
have a dark
that we closed our eyes for
even in the brightest daylight
a dark that could tell
we smell the circuses when afraid
the molecules and grazed
the intestines and bivalves
the bicuspids and grinders
the torn and omnivore
among us

we whore the farm for asphalt
and a vane veined culture
a slaughter-housed bleed
a corpse soylent need
sirens calling on our greed

and finally 
tell me
while I get
the check
are we dessert bound
or another play by play
collecting stones
rain to remember
in ancient culls
of rivers, seasons
and tides

EJR © 

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