I don't write, I paint myself blind with words...diogenes herded...ignorance...gilded cages...filling up on beauty unleashed...free will's maddening fractures...eyes that need to smell to see...
March 30, 2016
the night had a reckoning feel
I had spent the night along the river
after the benefit for a friend
who died much too young
I walked hours under
the yellow sodium sorrow
of the anti-crime street lights
then camped out near these
old coal chutes that used
to feed the furnaces
of this iron revolutionary place
I could hear little laps and splashes
of mighty tongued Hudson
when the tides came in...
do I know anything
except that love
at least in my hands
rings hollow, especially
when letting go of the life
I've led here in the Ilium city...
will this be considered perhaps
my greatest amounted nothing...maybe
my humanity can be had
at cost borrowing promise ever after
find the shade merchants
around the back of the barn
the rafters will be strung with
the bones of those less fortunate than I
to have never spied
what falling completely once
might have done to their
perspective perisc-optic lives...
I walk around corners now no eyes
crawling faith's demise
wearing powdered wigs inside
a tea cup pony because this is my dream
of need and repent...
I was born bent into America
into a world that is an ever growing
thirst with its blame policy mechanics
of who and what side would
thou be on if no winners were to be had
at the end of this...
so I said to the cancer screen-ers
no thank you I'd rather die here alone
there is no home for the departed partitions
and dropped ceiling tiles I've spent countless nights staring at
pretending to count the holes therein...
who is a product of want whereas what
only needs facts wrenched
in written observations
the anecdotes are
recorded as history
and when they read my memoirs my words
my poems I would hope some day they might say:
here was some one who cared
about saving the world once
then became irrevocably lost
in his own land of disenchantment
a broken man in mirrors and rusted toys
bed springs and abandoned tires
crumble piles of concrete and re-bar
like little pill boxes to hide behind
and shoot progress slipping back in...
need would never come looking for me I thought
so I quickly covered myself in dust
and disregard and blended in as best as I could
a street urchin with lusty whispers
meant to keep warm
by any means necessary...
EJR ©
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did i already type in here somewhere that i freaking love Jitterbug Perfume? i'm not sure. sorry to put it in such an inappropriate space.
ReplyDeleteYou did and are most welcome to mention anywhere you might want to...it is one of my favorite books...and as so much of it resonates with me, I like to hear references to its mythology whenever and wherever I can...grazie mille, uno che si muove anche le parole in modo così bello
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ReplyDeletethe swine wine spilled down spines tines ready in unseen but steady hands hunger in the shadows weights the curtains pulled back...good comments
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