April 25, 2016

as we fell .......................................................................#NaPoWriMo2016






we were left 
to our own devices 
while scarfing 
the abrasions 
from those 
descending next to us 
too full of themselves 
to acknowledge 
the beauty and power 
of their own sins 

damn these bumps in the road 
we scream hurling expletives 
into disposable slag heavy 
camp fire revivalist theories  
on humanity, we posit 
its slow sloth-ification is due 
to tickled-tricked-into-paying-for-
beyond-this-onslaught-itis 
of tactile manipulation 
disguised as intelligence 
gathering information 

we knew about the buses 
and trains as pathways 
to poem secret avenues 
and center mailbox 
publication in Lawrence Kansas 
edible Dorothy Gale hails from nearby 
but she has long since passed on 
but if you wet your mouth enough 
her dust tastes right 

you might even remember her 
as these little bouquet bells 
tippled by faces and the wee 
here at the altar of murmur moans 
and Beltane in a thickening sweetness 
of all that reaches us while bleeding ...


EJR ©

1 comment:

  1. Man, you are posting some crazy-awesome poems today. I love that "humanity, pause-it (paws-it)" line, and that groovy hyphenated section just below it.

    I still can't write. I think I'm giving up. Yesterday was a tragic experiment. I tried again this morning. Nothin'. Maybe it's the Zoloft. I couldn't even figure out how to comment on your poems earlier today. I guess I'll just have to be wordless girl now. Can you imagine? But without the pills, it feels like my heart's going to beat plum(s) out of my chest, and I can't seem to stop screaming. It's no way to exist. Especially not around children.

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