I bite and dig in, between sips...

photo by Edward Rinaldi ©

why art is always an abstract take on modernism

colloquial corporate canards 

are cunningly conniving 

concealing anything 

remotely impermanent 

or conciliatory to love

as infinity

there might have been innocence within us, once

anytime now was interrogated

we cloaked ourselves in assumption 

beneath malleable faces of tyrannical and puritanical

we said otherwise

tides can chide 

between the push and pull 

of divinity and baselines

between erode and reveal 

and the turning of starlight 

into rocks then rain

say do we always heed instincts 

when weathered by circumstances repeated

are we guilty as charged, like the silent say

labeled pariah to pestilence

needless, except to fence in

we repeat hymnals 

in a reflected misanthropic champion daily cycles

of grind, grain and explanation, that it is all progress

that we were here once ago and again

wondering how things got to be spinning so fast 

we couldn’t feel what form came next 

so we cut slits in the paper 

and covered our boxes to pinhole 

the view of each part of our humanity 

eclipsed by powerful suns disguised 

as the soul bearers coming 

with more horses, hordes

and bone cages

they can make sing 

the songs of sixpence tropics, 

commercial rums and ryes

EJR ©