why are the bigfoot considered Nephilim

'untitled', 1964 by Ralph Eugene Meatyard © 

this poem said 
God thought best 
they be lone pears 
left to spoil 
in a bowl 

with brushwork
sensation seeking 
ham fist-ed  
imagery 
I stood 
in a doorway 
mirror worn  
working 
thirty years 
of desperation 
into words 
disguised as 
hopeful thinking 

this has been 
a slow painted 
dis stilled life 
a seeping muddied 
almost blank canvas 
that asks the observer :
when did this wine turn 
black and white ...

it says 
pick a color 
to lens 
this sight 
and any seem 
ready to exit 
or fight 
the frame 

a mason jar is 
just off stage left 
waiting with lid 
to catch my last breath
as I take my leave here 
with not much else 
with no horse 
nor carriage 
nor contract 
of marriage broken 
but I am out of shape 
breathless and 
bending my feelings  
into possessions 
for empty pockets 
and these notebooks 
full of bad poems 


EJR ©