March 14, 2016

lepus, cuniculi, spectabilis





march to me is a poem 
to the world at large 

i love my vagrant humanity 
this time of year 
do you love yours, do you...
mine smells right now 
a crocus raw 
in questions like... 
does daylight savings time 
get your sleep all bunched up too?

too many 
       on   
   to 
me and ewe 
  eew maybe you 
insured too 
sheep 
 to
     lion lamb 
actuary 
  spread sheet   messy antics

i only write because most often 
i don't understand what is going on right now
in my head i think maybe 
final hindsight was made 
to disguise the parachute 
of a soul from its current bones 

each time through 
is rarely a clear path to
what is behind you 
retrospection curve-edges 
your looking glass  
you slow rake fingers 
a fine toothed recognition 
of this event horizon due
payment for another 
final passage, dinner
and theatrical serial show   

words and music 
set to dance with 
what we've just passed 
in and out of life 
on our ways 
to the county fair 
beyond here...

and though simon and pie man 
are simple folks with fares
they are 
the smoke and mirrors 
fun house gang 
all in an uproar 
as they watch you 
pore over your life 
in its entirety 
in these precious few seconds 
of clear strung infinity

shadow poppy riders 
and such, surf entrails 
dress in elaboration 
as is customary 
from perspectives 
born to eat  
our funny bone pains  
in order to survive 

there is strange fungi 
that grow on a fallen birch out back 
i remember you said 
we should pick 
and eat them 
after they're carefully dried 
with berries done the same 
then whilst steeped 
in our tea 
we'll sip gently
and wait 'til when you'll say, hear me sing 
between toeholds and wings
songs of six pence spots
keeping garden corner plots 
an unkempt wild for all the wee 
and all the unseens 
between me 
and you, wearing 
what was always 
the unobserved 

EJR ©

3 comments:

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    1. proféticamente

      la diosa del viento sabe cosas preciosas
      de las caras de piedra tallada
      encima de las montañas
      hueso liso de madera
      a la deriva en los mares
      pequeños cantantes
      para el viento amante
      con su permiso


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