i bee leave in mud flats after the rain or pawning my heart for my Circe Magdalene, a poem for when Goddesses know...

'La Madeleine à la veilleuse',
Georges de La Tour c 1640.

i heard coltrane after the rain 
in ebbs and flows 
each note goes the way June bugs do 
my flop house ears are near points of revival
palmettos down south crawl fly shell crunchy underfoot 
so i walk on by this row of houses 
au jus smells wafting sugar brown waffle cone 
Belgian vanilla crust caramel too mmm 
i want to stick my dick in the cake(s)
the pie(s) on the window sills 
i want to spill this moment
a lap velvet language 
of poem sigh lean back 
and wander the wondering(s)

oh it is Easter and the bonnets tilted so 
but i'll have you know 
this is a tail and antler show 
what kinds of sides will there be 
at the dinner table, linen set 
silver polished or pot luck 
with each extended member 
bringing their best service
will there be riotous romping sounds 
of children a-foot seemingly wearing Achilles' shoes 
will your hand slide beneath the table 
while serve your guest first is heard 
you smile to table and look at me 
saying after you poet 

so i dig in 
nibble bitten 
at first 
mustn't seem 
as thirsty 
as i feel 
i'm just learning 
how to drive
this poem 
somewhere 
inside a moment 
stolen or two 
with you...

between slow savory 
gravy over biscuits 
you give me hibiscus tea 
wishing the viscous 
and damning account proclamations 
of Akasha in your eyes 
is what feted tongues 
i speak of 

poems, she says, pour your night sky 
into stars that fall to pay tribute to me 
she says they do this because
the night is a vault 
to put away your day light when needed 
she says, you may need some of yours now

the ford gum here, it is a lot like chick licks 
you said, here try this machine 
they're from the circuses beyond 
any reason not to want to live

she gave me coins 
cups, swords and staves
i put them in 
the overturned glass globe 
atop its' round table top design 
housing a nickel plated mechanism 
of surprise and variance

i was choosing hope 
as a way to flavor her 
bare toes going starry eyed 
and digging into my soul
in this waking life dream 

for some Sunday 
   is right now Monday
in     
  seeped 
warm bosomy 
memoranda 
but i am
wearing her azure 
assuredly dreaming 
past words into Nod
i carry a smile 
and say her name 
three times 
out the open window 
by my bedside 
knowing she listens 
to music and reads signs


EJR ©