frijoles negros y arroz de cilantro

frijoles negros y arroz de cilantro

(he dances to himself 

listening for music 

right now Nina Simone 

is on the radio)

I am

a poet 

I hope 

to grow wit 

and older yet... 

I will cook for visitors 

but I'm shy, hard to get 

if do you want to know though 

you'll suspect it's some sort of anxiety 

in the quiet afterward(s) 

there is lacking, you muse 

some propriety of reason 

you wonder this 

and what might be 

the forms of his bliss, as...

I look off into the distance, sitting sipping 

my soul standing, it seems with the trees 

they are mostly deciduous 

you hear me say...

(the pines tend the rain 

and the maples, oaks and ash 

explain ritual by way of treason 

and loyalty, fear of flying 

and falling crash landing 

seems a pleasant enough way 

of saying he's hit his head 

on a rock 

at the bottom 

of a well)

                      third person 

                      firstly, is second 

                      in line, here 

                      soup and stone

the water waits 

will you

have wine 

tine desires 

twine yourself 

to a story 

in paused gravity

float amble spawn 

lore and lure 

so go and enjoy 

these culinary preparations, 

while I take to a drink

please mind, when you finish, 

I will be on the back deck, 

come and tell me what you think 

and by the way

there are fabric stains embedded 

inside the table cloth 

it was something bleeding 

from the imagination 

of the loom's thread greedy seeds 

there were petal wounds our chorus pursued 

the song of subdued, you mostly had become

"who are you wind when at the window crying 

what have you to give to overcome what you're eyeing,

is it more of something you cannot explain..."

EJR ©