photo by Charles Negre 1853 Henri Le Secq near the 'Stryge' chimera Notre Dame de Paris |
Sophie sat dead panning fools with gold
during a Schrödinger's cat scan at Bellamy University:
a limb lent ivy sent us to a hospital soon...
were we poisoned,
pleasured or
somewhere
between
haberdashery
haphazardly
I am taking in
all the scenery
the character changing rooms
are gargoyles we fancied
they're the large opulent
can't get out of our own way types
of peer edged spied
better to be
bacteria here, sometimes
than bones
flesh and skin
so plied
from over a ledge
out in the open...
there the orderly gave her
one of his slow-burning looks
said stir-fry palaces were
ninety-five miles due East
off the main quad
and were the cause of many
small seed oil related weather anomalies
if you are to continue being this curious
please be aware there are
monks chanting in Latin
waiting to journey o'er
clench poet seas
spin tanneries and a locksmith inn
draped at near end winter
in leeward mingle worn moms...
some have straight dark hair
sometimes in ponytails
ecclesiastically
lingering about
a lawn mower
and cocked-robin
casket led dig in idle Hubertus
who lied about the stag
and his lust to be one
of the Merovingian kings
oh, gilded skate silver family rowan tree
forgotten gardens are often born at night
mayfly span gingerly wise grabbing reins
maybe she knows she twirled macabre joy
from shadows cast about mountains of ash
she whorled my attention around
an iron lamp post, a cobble stoned living street
in her tilted derby hat she wanted me
to know that her smile
was a scent I best not forget
near about bowling green we spied
an abandoned Paul Bunyan
a 50's era, roadside attraction
swallowed by decay
it is almost beyond view into the forest
just a squint of a simpler time
when we were only at
the precipice of go
and we decided to
and most things
a blur ever since
slowing down
to smell the flowered flesh
of a moment that stops time for you
seems incongruent with the little beasts we've unleashed...
Pandora and Eisenhower, your super highways are
sped tasked catacomb-ed loam
filled with dreams deferred
any sort of stir pot is not to be sanctioned
as the military industrial complex
is just now beginning to understand
what is beyond overt control...
myth and archetype
from the vaults of Lidsville
H.R. Puf-n-Stuf
and Geiger
went about envisioning
things alien
to our cast senses
of normalcy...
oh ye silver glide over thin ice
wind in rollers and splendid whites
we've come to hunt birds like quail again
and as any dule of doves or covey of partridges
can attest: a human life is
meant eventually to be
articulate whim calciums
what can be sown poem-ed
to perfectly green grass come late April
in the northern climes
the time of year when
at apron string length
everyone is old seed rye again
in New England town squares
Shirley Jackson high
waxed on chance
and ritual killing, culling
into fertile folds
what infinity demands
in exchange for their free will...
and here all this time
you thought the morning star
only left handed you an ever thinning blade
and surgical manual of ritual description
of what must be beneath that...
also here, curiosity demands
your empty valence shells
it demands knowledge
of places inside you
faith may be born from
places, you may never
have been aware of...
sanctuaries, your soul
remanded to these bones
on its way in...
what poem herd?
I am another one of your tintype passengers
or as Ray Liotta playing the character Krendler
in the film 'Hannibal' says, what is it currently
"that smells great"
we coat each breath
we thirstily exhale
with a bereft of the theft
of wanting to see
to believe
nose knows
this is where
we first learn
to deceive
hungry collodion
lungs and accordion
halide compounds
are al-chemical agents
and biologic angels
sometimes, demons too...
they might say
in feast before
the fray...
can you catch
a soul's
first wing flap
or the moment
when a heart
does break...?
...and are these moments
meant to be jarred
cataloge-d and pantr-ied
with some label you've calligraph-ied
recording some vague pomp
and posterity as if you being
an archivist with a pulpit
was your every destiny's job...
is heaven only
a silver-ed
sliver-ed
glass dry plate
emulsion and subtle
auto-chrome
contamination...
is hell just a place where
there are skeletal remains
hidden, sunken in when truth fades and erodes
a gnaw never seen, knives in the wind
who knew this carriage carried someone
besides the driver, we found only one spleen...
what then would thou do with this scene...lock it down or make some crown of this royal pain in the ass people have painted inside you...I choose to write and direct my chaos as best I can, milling about the teeming mobs and the slow staved little deaths by hungering for unknown(s)...
(cheap paper Gutenbergs,
western civilization is
one big crucible
to crumble dichotomy
blah blah blah)
every fucker there ever was
in recorded history
came to a here just to be
Phoenician/Roman/American/Christian/Zion
just to have future generations say
we don't want or need
every fucker there ever will be
coming to our current here
just to get shit for free
or for less than what I paid for it
bullshit and shenanigans
folks will say...
oh say can you see
the fallacy of chasing
moon-glow-n applications
for this subsidy or that subsidy
some here unseen
purposely or invisible
just the same cannot end life fast enough
and for other(s) of us,
we the people, is an event manipulative minutia harmony
a rhetoric noise amplification dissonance chant we call beauty...
this is clearly meant to hide all
these paths to the hearts of the matter(s)
give me nothing
straight up
make it a double
a few extra napkins, keeper
I am so thirsty
and a bit too eager
I know I am going
to spill some
while sating...
EJR ©
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ReplyDeletethe space merely meant to give the stanza some lean
Deleteand into a rabbit hole life doth leap
Deletepeerless too, sewn loose in reap
so one has never to feel as if
one could not be torn by an experience
one would want later to be lying in, bleeding out with...
these things I think are mostly where my poems come from...
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DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete