July 9, 2016

listening ear Sun down on the foot mat my side of the spy hole ............................................................. word gathers tatters matter just inside perceptual ................ me, a door on the floor ....................... comic novel world, poem fires off in goodbyes




hurry scurry 
flurry move 
we're gonna miss it 
we alm out 
our palms shout  
we'll pout for 
all of it 
leave chance 
an almost ...

we always do this 
chasing the electric 
bait on the rail 

we came by this path 
with all our honesty 
threaded bare bearing 
what is deserved 
of this fate 

we are convinced 
it has followed us here 

stretch Cadillac limo 
bodies in the back 
bones and what sand knows 
after the Sun gives way 
to the hunger spreading 
by night agents 
barking harkers holy  
and the lord nether mouths 

poem says 
you are stuck with me 
my peddler rage 
tearing torn tide fined why 

fought surrenders 
are hunted now 
compliant comfortable 
case by case might 
of a moment 
is acute awareness 
of the cage 

I say to poem 
I am here in your neon world 
keeping score, encoded 
to invocation viable poem 
I ask somewhere 
between the beats 
of sexual innuendo 
what and where are you writing me doing 
am I you crossing ley lines and meridians 
plum bobbing magnetite 
books and pages 
do I put stone sagacious  
round tiled compassion 
with mortar slide troweled 
for our Hypatia 
the broken pieces 
of Her skull 
we managed 
to get 
in the coat 
of arms 
they didn't take Her alive either
we both say to Pandora 
before asking 
if She would 
open the floodgates again 
but only if it pleases Her 
to do so 


does She have 
a sense of darling 
we should let her know 
about how Persephone 
was wanting, waiting  
lying on a snooker table  
She is able to keg stand 
high heels spotted wily 
wielding Her power  
angel past life 

I remember 
any experience 
is calling memory 
and promising limbs 
regresses blesses messes 
and we are handles getting 
better at packaging it 

poem disappears 
says last stanza frantic 
is to be born again 
royal divine atheist 
with strange behaviors 
articulating the soul 

EJR © 

1 comment:

  1. Wow - you have such a creative mind, I wonder where it all comes from? This made me think of the poems I have created and at the end decided I didn't like them and thought tomorrow is a new day.

    poem disappears
    says last stanza frantic
    is to be born again

    ReplyDelete