photo by Ben Ernst © |
your pink Moon over whore eyes in
i said, can you tell me about what
i am digger-y digger-y digging
in this clutch fabric of yours
as night is swaddled with it
and seems in concentrated velvet(s)
tremor to daylight emerging
an urge emigration wild-ing
with you, deep below me
we're near the coffee table
tricking poems with notations
best left in scratches
for instance, i am palming
your breastbone
squeezing myself in there
the coffee table
is a fulcrum eye
as i am past
sitting on that sofa
with pretense and tea
aware that getting
to the floor where
there are more
tenses wearing
your verbs
more reveal(s)
feel(s) more scented
thoroughfare(s) too
no i don't ever ever mind
even catching the most
infinitesimal scent
of Persephone
this is why
i tide my blood
to the rind
mountains tied
to rain
oceans and ghosts
in the clouds
they taste all our
fast little crawls between
humanity and animal when
she said here we are court
and flint tinder carriage
through wind over wet sand
i brought a blanket and
when then high tide
we'll smile and reprise
ourselves taking a (s)tand
EJR ©
"an urge emigration wild-ing
ReplyDeletewith you, deep below me"
Today, with that picture, I'm reminded of grunions for some reason. She doesn't seem like a sexual "lick me, I'm delicious" pin-up girl right now, but rather, something beautiful and timeless, washed up out of the ocean---something that is absolutely supposed to be there amidst the sand ripples and mystical forgottens. I even wonder if she's lying there when the beach is dappled in people and daylight, but they just don't see her for what she is. Tragic and dying. Why won't they help her?
Today, "whore" is a melding of "who and Eeyore." Who-ore? She's so melancholy and alone and has no idea who she is. Today, I read the digging as if you are unearthing her; she's been there so long that people have just built their castles on top of her, not taking any notice of what they're burying in their own quests for pleasure.
Today, a coffee table is a table made of coffee. It's warbling, hot, dangerous energy. And what if it's only luring her in with tricks so that it can then offer not-it-shuns? No one really wants her; they only think they do or pretend they do so they can then scald her with her own unfathomable liquid energies.
Like this:
"for instance, i am palming
your breastbone
squeezing myself in there" It's one of your tricks ... making it seem like you want to put yourself inside her heart, but really you just want to slip your dick between her breasts.
"fulcrum eye" Fool crumb I.
"pre-tense" Before the fear, tension. Maybe it's also prey-tens, or pray tines. Because why not? We pray to everything else; why not forks? Why not everything we're just dying to eat?
"aware that getting
to the floor where" ... where = with air ... This makes me think of trying to escape a house fire. Trying to find the safest place to breathe when you're trapped inside and everything collapsing on you.
"there are more
tenses wearing
your verbs" ... I don't even have any verbs anymore. I lay them at the altar of who gives a fuck and walk away. There is no verb left in me; which part of speech can I play that involves not ... anything? An article. Names something singular. That's what I am. It's the loneliest kind of word; I won't even tell you which one, because why bother.
"mountains tied
to rain" This is your cock 'n' boobs scenario again.
This is still a favorite:
"oceans and ghosts
in the clouds
they taste all our
fast little crawls" ... But now I see sear-all(s) and seer-all(s) inside of "crawls." Little. Why does it always seem like becoming as small as possible is ultimately the answer to every question?
I like the idea of an "animal when." Maybe it's a question, or maybe "animal" is an adjective describing the noun "when," which I like. Because those are the types of phrases I can hide inside and not be found by anyone because they don't seem to make sense.
"she said here we are court" But are they courting, or are they in court? Being accused, getting a divorce ... or are they playing basketball? Or are they just fucking cored? Like an apple. Center stripped right out. Hollow-kissed and gutted of all mist but that which lingers behind the eyes.
"and flint tinder carriage" A baby, a horse and buggy, countenance, car-rage. Regardless, it's all burning up up and away.
Re-prize. Of course. I should have known.
At the end there, that's you, knocking out her teeth.
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=TAND
And another thing...read as much Virginia Woolf as you can...the plurality of meaning(s) she explores in her writing is so up your alley...
DeleteThat urban dictionary reference i never knew...oh sweet birds of paradise you are too funny aeon flux...if you must know...i separated the "s" as an homage to someone i am willing to take a stand with...thank you for the commentary...a brilliant pierce arrow of light into my underbelly dark as per usual...
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Deletethere shall be no parameters placed upon you by me, timelessness I'm guessing can be a ring of flowers woven into the clover and only meant to be glimpsed at on occasion...
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Deletekeep on being you
Deleteentropy
poem thirst
hunger too
(from a work in progress)
"...and now that Spring is here
I'm serving drinks to Demeter
wearing north winds with
empty mason jars for mirth
waiting just to greet her
daughter, as sometimes she rides alone
an entire song, commercials too
while wading life in bones
from feasts and loam pantry
to the weight of petals falling
as souls do, here on Earth..."
you are flicker fast
Delete