December 30, 2015

a muted tantara for breakfast


'In the Kitchen of Good and Evil' by Caitlin Rose ©
an illustration from
Baba Yaga House: Thunder and Writing,
by Polonius Ficklebottom 2010





a muted tantara for breakfast

we had barely crossed into morning light 
with the trappings of night still flush, in our eyes...

here is where we had decided to ride 
in a lively tantivy until all our indecision was gone...

we needed to convince wind to be our friend 
instead of a slow jeweler's knife 
with a penchant for reading...

we needed fire to boil the little lathes of sea 
known as local tongues-of-sky, rivers 
are why we went out for tea...

we would trade eggs for lashes 
and hatches that were already battened down...

rodents and daggers, with swagger 
they come a-crawling the between-the-walls...

so now I am back to being 
Tantalus the egg-eater...

he, of the crept theft parlance, 
who knew the best dancers 
were from the Slavic regions...

where cities ate forests, we had 
to sometimes call gypsies names 
just to understand we didn't understand 
the very core nature of vagabond-ed beautiful lives...

their women had eyes that we could never shake 
from our memory and as such, we often had dreams,  
which were guided by shadows chasing the lights...

there we were and are, character and caricature 
slip minstrels wanting, listening to ourselves 
as sounds scents made, denizen mingling
in late 19th century cobblestone-d
gas lamp flickering(s)...

these dreams of ours are desires undressing 
they are our oil slicked catch basin squinted glints 
stretched over everything night knew 
would wear us well into dawn...

only bits of bones, honed 
from yesterday's 
colors remained...

the rest was stain, 
audience and arresting 
black velvet mass 
a canvassed lance 
and silhouetted bleeding...

hungry, we said nothing 
knowing, this is how 
the soul gets its bones 
every night, when it begs 
for more ink to store 
inside each song 
and stink of ours 
that doth give rise 
to the masks 
we wear spying 
along the edges 
of what tomorrow 
may yet bring 
for us to eat into...


EJR ©

1 comment:

  1. "here is where we had decided to ride
    in a lively tantivy until all our indecision was gone" ... Man, I miss riding horses.

    I love this stanza:
    "we needed to convince wind to be our friend
    instead of a slow jeweler's knife
    with a penchant for reading"

    "rivers
    are why we went out for tea" ... Sheesh, dude. Your poetry is worth living for.

    "he, of the crept theft parlance" Ha.

    Damn, you. Fantastic:
    "where cities ate forests, we had
    to sometimes call gypsies names
    just to understand we didn't understand"

    Gorgeous line: "they are our oil slicked catch basin squinted glints"

    "hungry, we said nothing" ... Isn't that the truth? This is why Mommy always gives her serving to her baby.

    "knowing, this is how
    the soul gets its bones"
    "knowing: this is how
    the soul gets its bones"

    The last word, tacking on "into" ... that changes everything.

    Awesome title and artwork.

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