“All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies, and whenever they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you, digger, listener, runner, prince with the swift warning. Be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed.”
― Richard Adams, Watership Down
i've only ever thought
eyewasthe great seasonal
confluence of iconography
determining nothing
dimensions mention ed in passing
third person field arrays
and pulse wave pattern seekers
cling weary tenacious bones
what do soulsdecide deride incise mete
and mean, for instance
is value constant fluctuation
a conifer consensual-ity or
thirsty cycle moorings untied
are the ides of march field
and bramble living chant reach...
i confer with a coin-op
next to a thriftstoregreen
enamel painted tin, collecting clothes
i will steal into it later on
when no one is looking
i am over here right now
smoking a cigarette
still high wearing stain
whet goatskin breath wine
there are some times when i dare the universe
to listen while pretending i work the night shift
sleeping in my car with night wrapped around me
so that I can be woken by the birds just before sunrise
i drink coffee at this convenient store
watching a real world go by
i scrape and claw
making sure my mind
is still inside me
\walk unseen behind the dumpster to pee
say things to myself
that i want to say out loud
about howthankful i am
for what the wind brings
the weather for one
and frankly that's enough for me
but it also eats our skin cells
and tells us when it is time to do
things both with certainty
and happenstance-ish opportunity
well, you did leave a dish out
for the fae when you prayed
to your no one special, right?
white anglo saxon protestant
declarative patina is
i've only e ver thought
aloof roof was great
perspective maybe
ihavewhite privilege maybe
afew perks definitely
i could not help but see
the way more melanin
increases awareness
of differential treatments
even low income housing
where everyone was poor
and connected by subsidy
how you decorate walls
with pictures and things
that turn you on
when nothing matters
but pleasing the senses
is the same, whoever
you are...
growing up
supposing
poets grind
sum day(s)maybe
do we all press smells, share
class warfare titillation
civic structural religions
papacies with codes
of conduct for public
and private affairs
fanaticism between the lines
in the dark capture-womb-cameras
of our blinks...
there must always be
an adherence to what semblance of family
seeps through to you from
where ancients see
old coal chute ghosts
laced with lace kerosene and other
easy fuel smells we learned
to live with like thin bread
and zig-zag back stairwells
that lead to back alleys...
i don't remember exactly when i decided
structured society was full of shit
and that i'd rather be a weed
probably cause i knew early ear to the ground age young
this world didn't give a fuck about you
and faith was becoming scarce
when it came to common ground
you played perhaps
in crumble towns of anthracite, along
rivers and railroads, i think i knew whistle stop
was what poem said
would end up carrying
all this observable freight anyways...
EJR ©
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