it was when the lens was in warm yellow that I threw up this poem
mirror and tine
pissing just fine
a-spell binding
tide and reading from
my soul, amidst wane...
my humanity goes
throes in rows
of, I am thee
and me, in serenade
sometimes disgustingly
rejoiced to revolted
elated to apathy, in reign
explaining pain only to myself
at the intersections
of almost \and
boxing out the sun
praying to myself
no explanations
would ever be needed
when it came
to my behavior desiring
rabbit holed falling numb
sailing away from time...
your terminal to perpetual
divinity, I have coveted
with no holds barred...
the candy shoppe is in olde towne too
and this is where I do go looking in my worn shoes
I go a-guided, feeling felt by poured toothed blind neon...
knowing what I had already decided
I was buying into, tonight I was to chase,
this local shine as it seems fine enough
to write this, in, a right now,
with a what and why
I was a-wanting
not far behind, in tow...
this has gone on for so many years
occasionally poems like this
would recede and erode
like my gums do to old memories
teething to you, the reader to find
poking up through the ground
like a crocus perhaps, bones
of a poem, before Spring arrives...
EJR ©
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