March 2, 2016

and yes, my mood is a fickle fiddle mistress



and so the Moon made a face through the clouds a few weeks ago


"your brain chemistry results are in sir 
please read the following Zoltar results..."



it says I am too often
shell-reflection-needy  
old-metal-rasp-glide-less-rough 
and in a place, not nearly palace enough 

poem says too many of me 
and like tarragon 
there is no other flavor 
for the eggs to take home
maybe, a lighter hand 
wouldn't lose my attention 
and keys to the car so frequently 

manic gas laws 
atmospheric ritual 
ghost wind and eon 
are eating time 

I have got to put iron 
in the bloodstream 
watch rain under streetlights 
turn to snow 
hope and maybe(s) 
the single headlight-ers 
traversing the block 
I make wishes on 
careful not to do so 
when one eye(s) 
are back to back...

poem says I am 
more honest depressed
and sometimes this is better 
to be the chute 
and not the ladder 
like here for instance 
fallen into March hare
with ears to the ground 
listening with poem 
for a you, reaching 
through with the crocuses

EJR © 

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