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| photo by EJR © |
entering tomorrow through a rabbit hole virus
a dangerous fantasy preoccupation
warring with mirrors
nearer to errors, regular irregularity
wanted once only to live in utopias
never ending Saturday mornings
I squeeze sleep from my eyes
while a haze hallucination fog
steals into an echoing night
who begs, we must have more
the mist and shadows say
dawn always smiles for you
it is never too soon to open the curtains
for you dark lords, actors and ladies
your play, stages bright enough
to be our permanent executioner
we hold a lottery in my little river city, once a year
for our elegant-less, hard-scrabbled wanting to be
we crowd the forefront of an imagined post apocalypse
we want to see who will
eat the sloughed off bits
the pathogenic mutations
voraciously racing our vector wards
we elect borough presidents
plan revolution while picnicking
we take stock of panicking huddled comfort seekers
we are horrified and rubber necking the imagery
we are riding wave after wave of subtle indoctrination
right now it is seasonal light disorder Autumn
underbellies for the horse drawn melancholy
holiday menageries of wholly holy smiles stolen
and made a spoke free odd wheel mad
for an axis and identity beyond anonymous
we wait in the long line of other mouths to feed
we are fed sexual recollection, ancient evolutionary yaws
and given spawn direction migrations
we seek out lampposts and campfires
heightening our sense of the dark outside
what we can ever know
we abandon reason for telomere breakdown
we name these forms, ambulatory articulate
demons and angels waiting
we are the will to be divine despite mortality rates
that necessitate rapid reproduction fates
where wealth is distributed with the greatest imbalance
as the leaves fall and gourds lie
in the fields gathering the frost
we wobble a frenzied adherence to scripture books
we have art and literature
songs and hymnal marches
ritual feasts and quiet sates
that all say we must promise
now is always the time
to look inside the hearts of men
we hold our breath to look at stars instead
just to say there is more to substance than attain
what gifts can we construe as thieves
we are but a back water town at heart
no matter where it is we start
we are too full of nationalistic class jealousies
herding ourselves pinhole camera squeezed
our views of the universe
with even the most humble of our prayers
are still infected with our humanity
and because there is no way around
this damning or disease, we are so often
reduced to begging the silence to come
by doing what we please
EJR ©
