April 8, 2016

magic carpet went solar for crock pot and kept...#NaPoWriMo2016


Double Portrait with Hat, c. 1936-1937
Dora Maar (1907-1997)
gelatin silver print, montage with handwork on negative


she said waver nothing noting 
ghost higher ups like ripe grapes 
and lame foxes but the boxes 
of stuff you packed away were full 
of disposable dust and must we continue 
to breathe it in or can we store it near 
where and what you used to be part of...

in cellar by the door if we must...

what say you, are you glad 
awe finally hates you now...

do you finally feel safe 
when it seems no one can 
love this you any more 
are you finally in 
your natural environment 
of bottom level dysfunction...

yeah... that's what we thought as well...

__________________________


the fermented journey begins:

I went subscription canceling 
trying to get my best shoe to fit glove viewed
hands on and on and on I went on about some 
bent crawling the cut glass hot parlor tricks...

sent your mother out 
to dry wall and rock routines 
you gleaned this from 
perceptual blueprints 
that I ought 
to have used 
more discretion with 
around you kids...

the copper eye on 
the under-wiring writing 
of things here  now 
are done so 
as not to raise alarms 


did you read about
a bucket brigade-ist like Mao 
marching after Chiang Kai-Shek 
this will steal your happiness 
with tales of scour 
the font white noise terror 
Dr. Frankenstein pauses  
in all places even Persia 
with its great cities 
such as Tehran 
where they once had 
every boulevard 
practicing arts 
faith and knowledge 

sadly this philosophy 
seems no more welcome 
there, as it is here
why would mythology 
be anything 
but, a handle-less 
American Rome, 
scandalous 
in a butter sauce 
better it seams 
with sugars 
and fillers to fit 
where you're at 
waiting on the new wardrobe...
emperor penguin flight 
and all that fact fancy 

to hold humanity 
use held hive honey 
collection agencies 
auctions 
lenders speared 
headed spread 
through out neighborhoods wield-ing 
devoured by message techniques 
propped a gland up boxed stepped 
and voice carry approximation scans 
are part soul machine 
and wireless heart attacks 


now no one believes 
in magic or messiahs 
just money mostly 
and the spectral possibility 
of a machine 
gaining a soul 
and the same status quo 
as pets or other domesticates ...

I'm at an airport 
waiting for carriage 
to a seaside resort

triple points plasma retina screens
the wars on now 
are successful comic strips 
meant in three or four panels 
to be implementation psychiatry 
right hand path finder faith 
left hand ironic toke waif 
massive garbage piles 
on the oceans, cut 
the last mooring string 
island chain couches 
big cabooses boothe-ed 
I lean forward 
look to leap 
inside the pornography...

a news bulletin 
comes across 
the tv's in english

they poisoned the wells 
with irradiated interferons 
and oblivion(s) 
sin basket painted
a color you'd recognize 
in the pitched black 

for me to learn new songs 
of the road house 
I've went old school wild 
a lawless intent 
o'er and under lands meant 
for conquer quiet 
and simmer again 
the background sounds 
the places I hide sin 
again against what 
you are comfortable in 
when not being noticed 
much at all...

 why not 
eat well 
 into when 
a smile 
 by yourself 
was a must...

there were calls for lore gardens to be planted where the 
factories once were and that every child should make toys and 
that every adult should be made to play at least once a day for 
an hour by themselves or face the hoses again...bare to brick 
wall scrapes clothes off you all and plead mercies are not given 
quarter here...and though lord, lady or other rank when so 
caught up here...raw and ready surrender when the never end-
ers take flight into the vague and tender parts of any memory of 
an us you once endeavored to save for just such an emergency exit 
plan or relief map to an else where any wear else please...

EJR ©

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