I don't write, I paint myself blind with words...diogenes herded...ignorance...gilded cages...filling up on beauty unleashed...free will's maddening fractures...eyes that need to smell to see...
April 12, 2015
#NaPoWriMo 2015 no.11
this Winter in order not to freeze, I got an old computer to burn too
I am squeezing life
from its dirty screen
from its ancient (computer time)
memory to its dust encrusted
keyboard
it still allows
me some poetry and pornography
some wise woman big trunk love
in animated and repeating imagery...
eyes hook
field unattended
distractions...
my will is impure
finds my adulterating
purity...
this Winter
my morals were
slush oscillations
cold and slow...
be it beaches
or southern
inland sea tongues
a river reaches
rain and temperate forest trees
drawing quartered seasons
for perspectives to please...
how many farthings
have I got
to extend my life
most fantasies
have steep costs
for coloring
outside the lines...
this Winter was rust and rasp
old forge file real peeled raw exposed
just so I don't forget
how lurching mankind
seems to be, roman senate-esque
east coast united states
push what it can
strip the good mother fumble
be curious beyond a clever honest intent
sell the story and go away
be art in the shadows for awhile...
as we ( should I say our? )
maybe just my own humanity
keeps asking if a few fish still fly?...
and if so might that be good enough
for sate, saint
and subatomic bones
for skin and scent
are we or am I
choosing rhythm melody
as the run-on sentence
the section played
beneath chords...
melodious
far out weighs
dousing myself
to light on fire
in the comics
stealing time
to piece together
infinity harvesting
between(s)
exhales
and blinks...
I'll reflect on that
for awhile
and get back to you
I am going to watch
another selfie movie
or two...
EJR ©
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