September 23, 2015

the simplicity of my bones and their ripe apocalypses arranged on a platter...

'Persephone', by Ian Cashman ©

the simplicity of my bones and their ripe apocalypses arranged on a platter (this was a dream, I tell you)

she must be the samba 
instead of the calypso 
I should have known, 
this music made me want to lay down 
and give up any thought of a crown
inside her bed chambers 
the windows were open 
and the curtains were billowing 
Autumn had arrived in prattle paper poems...

my feet were a tangled mess 
I was hoping to be blessed 
by forgiveness in an envelope of forgotten sorrow 
I said I'd be right back and ventured toward 
the lavatory, she said it was down the hall 
and to the right though if I had to pee 
she said I could do that outside if I preferred...

the wash basin had a spigot over it 
that seemed preternaturally extruding from the stone 
wall behind it, I thunked it with my finger to be sure it 
was not stone or metal for it seemed like an old tap root 
gathered on some seashore, a piece 
of driftwood worn smooth 
tide after tide, gnawed at by time...

humanity is mostly 
salt and chance 
taking a liking 
to the way sugar bleeds 
it always hopes someone plants 
a maple tree nearby 
it as I, can feel falling 
as a necessary ritual turn of events 
that need not be chosen 
but rather just observed...

my eyes knew to look up and my nose knew 
to follow along her scent for there were surely 
going to be flesh left on my bones 
when I said I didn't mind 
having to see the world this way...

my soul was 
crawling between moods 
in search of invigoration 
dilated pupils and captured light 
I was in the dark 
when my irises widened to adjust 
to the sound of Morpheus 
and his courtesans and couriers 
who said, sleep and nourishment help
for they are the mitigation squads 
and we are your chorus of wanting...

"...inside you..."

they sing 
<fading to black>

"...there are seeds to twist 
the wind into strange fruit 
for Persephone again..."


1 comment:

  1. I love this:

    "humanity is mostly
    salt and chance
    taking a liking
    to the way sugar bleeds"