vibrating shuttle, bobbin driving
seams sewn and re-sewn
memory is mostly imagined
over and over
on that singer
machine black
gold painted enamel over iron
there is a rhythm here
a certain look back
fabric nostalgia
woven white noise
loom hemming something
in a peddle push
big fly wheel poem...
the old river valleys
seem unseemly when given over
to forgetting what's beneath
what shines
shadow says
I love slippery clay
and shale
old pines...
tripping back
and forth
in an old
sewing machine
it is always
1903, some reason
I like that year
it parses
into four
maybe it's
coded click
calendrical
ritual wear
wobble release
though we know
Sagittarius
is rising
binary star
Solstice snarls,
where the jagged
fingers are pushed up,
pines left reaching
for the out of sight(s)
yeah this, brown dwarf
entropy teething
making modernity
backward come-uppances
the shit greed leaves behind...
we know, crass cynicism, says
you want to know why
la Befana took too, to the air
sweeping dusty exhales
to the sea as rain
December Saturnalia,
feats, feast, fools
snow maybe,
cake and fava bean
lord of misrule
these tippled hair
dare exhale mountains, when
combed close enough
to where Krampus roamed
may just understand
tide bleeding and
a strided smiled wickedly
Pan companion-ed collection
of what balances
what Saint Nick
funnels beneath us
in a chattel gluttony...
you see, the scent
of a street side at night
is a raw beauty daring
us the when and the why
we realize, there is always
a moment of discovery, waiting
there, then is a now too
a noun even though
harder to come by
seems I have run
out of room...
and you want
to get another drink
like I am leaving you to do...
womb
basket
reed and
tourniquet
to time...
seems like racquetball now
vodka, lemonade
maybe some crackers too
where what wonders why
yeah, parcheesi, I liked that game...
EJR ©
My word, your poetry is enthralling. I so look forward to reading your work.
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