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| "Friendship of Don Quixote" by Octavio Ocampo © |
transported by wine and rum
so yes, I am drunk writing this
does it ever matter for my poems
most of my humanity is rife with cartoonish
cartographical resurrection cynicisms
and can be counted on for fulcrum metaphorical
two dimensional duty in a variety of plot-lines
including the calendars inside
each of the parades of fools I fall into
maps, I decided
as Cervantes had said
(this obviously is a device lie)
are a Don Quixote insurrection
they steal nothing
and placid angle
my time
your character exhales
became legion
tales told they are
where we were when
we eyed kingdoms
as womb thirsty returns
you revise
devise matinee serials
sought after quills
image shills
bank on loyalty
to innocence lost
and a willingness
to pay to remember
here is where
my human ripe lives
each of my bent fragile desires
somewhere beneath simmer
wading bubbles, spits
and seasons
bit bridled iron is a long con
progress and modernity
pretend to use satire
as a way of understanding
place and quantifiable causes
why lust is compelling
enough to sometimes not want
to see the rest of the world
so now
I sit weary
and worn
past midnight
there are
cold gales outside
and it is still
trying to snow
weather was
always more faith
than science
I believed
just as my soul
wears the hat
that brought me here
spyglass-ing hems
and horizons for words
treasure seeker white noise
between high tides and lows
sweet chariots and shadows
as for the barrels
we keep things in
they know
stories store
who we are
here to there
and where
we want
to begin
EJR ©
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