a tree here, a tree then, told me when I was...
demanded remand
standing brush-less
eyes no nose, leaf cycle clothes
knows blind to smell cannot tell
which season it was
before I became
fable fob piece meal loam
a watch found one evening
drunkenly ambling on home,
romancing after-midnight(s)
there is vomit
in a bucket
I left it behind me
I am enjoying
its faint stench
wafting and waxing
in slow finger-lette
ribbon unwanted(s)
under my candy-
thin-blanket-
broken-windows
Winter knows
my minute
by minute begs
knows how much
a skeleton inherits needs
natal and seed
to root and wings...
I suppose we all count rings
curl into our memories
playing and praying
at the insides of trees
places where, we can
peel ourselves
back, bark to blood...
we define each life
I suppose
in given chase
of whatever skinned us
to these bones first
we rattle off
in recollection, the
feast and limb songs
of our soul, the what
of a moment that
every so often
in the lifetimes
of trees
comes to let us know
we reap what we sow and
we too, can and do grow
despite ourselves
into someone
who can appreciate
the beginning,
middle and
end of a poem...
EJR ©
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