'The Night-Hag Visiting Lapland Witches', by Henry Fuseli (1741–1825) |
witching hour
ready for bed after pissing
urinal, temple let go
the racehorse dynastic rust parable
on sanitary napkin
I spied its rolled heavy flow loose twine whorled
haphazardly hazards
we obstacle our bliss
with miss width souls
we want to be
perfectly imperfect, every time
blue mail box america
once ago, rooted English language oddity...
red box and booth
our continent is manifest filled
with island ovaries pioneer spirit...
our old souls
are painted onto
old mountains
we wish to know
the many forms
rain takes...
you decide
what you want
what you can hide
inside the skin
and bones, dog
and pony show...
this time we keep track of...
it is all the caged whispers
velvet charades
politics is playing parlor games
we pretend you are serious
and as campy as Vincent Price
in The Raven with Peter Lorre and Boris Karloff
midnight said have fun hours ago
most life is hung up with emotions
it is why bones and flesh
demand palms at low tide
wading the underworld
Persephone knows
just how many seeds
to pry open infinity with
we are mostly impatient,
wanting to come and be
the fantasy between surrender
and the squeeze of almost
sometimes when
we are just about there
we swear we knew
every way to get inside
the places where
we become lost enough
to say please
might you be able
to tell me
where I am
again...?
EJR ©
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