February 9, 2016

when once I came upon a gitch-ee-goomi




when once I came upon a gitch-ee-goomi


into faded 
indigo shadows 
playing a lived 
devil egg hour 
high note climbing 
scaled circumstance 
I was low on erudite(s) 
seeking a long shot 
an instance when, 
scent divines fine cell entry form humanity...

it took awhile for me to catch on...

so this is wade theory, I thought 
my witnessing the old testimonial time lapsed 
soul permutations, in no holes needed vignettes 
hazy self-osmosis strobes 
flicker fading scratches 
where we learned to steal light 
back in elementary school
from an ancient jellyfish 
with a filmstrip projector...

there were many 
little movie stills that 
taught us to eat with thirst
slow foot-ing fast witted getting wet  
same-womb-someone-else-ing...

we sense we take turns 
sitting on thrones 
as sometimes we're worms 
before scepter and flowering trees 
and we are trusting we can swim 
from where we were and when 
this particular consciousness got in...

and when fingers 
are fins, we are 
in salt and iron 
and our sight 
is really gills 
magnets owned by nose 
our memory is 
bone channels, dead hair 
and ivory to marrow appendages 
our perspectives, while here 
are honed by wind and ghosts 
and eventually become 
ritual porthole skinny 
eye lids we paint 
inside black 
window shutter 
covering things 
we hold onto 
because there is 
always a chance  
this body of work 
is broken declarations 
old glass, the past 
wanting air too 
daring us 
further into
rabbit hole lived 
devil a-playing 
shadows indigo 
faded into...

EJR ©

2 comments:

  1. I like the E.E. Cummings in your title.

    And these:
    "an instance when,
    scent divines fine cell entry form humanity"
    "our memory is
    bone channels, dead hair"
    "covering things
    we hold onto"
    "this body of work
    is broken declarations"
    "shadows indigo
    faded into"

    ReplyDelete
  2. I like the E.E. Cummings in your title.

    And these:
    "an instance when,
    scent divines fine cell entry form humanity"
    "our memory is
    bone channels, dead hair"
    "covering things
    we hold onto"
    "this body of work
    is broken declarations"
    "shadows indigo
    faded into"

    ReplyDelete