................... poem says I am the folds and unfurls of you

“And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?” Walt Whitman 



let's just wade the minute parts 
(thought experimental poem tone-d)

in the microwave 
I made ramen noodle soup 
asked myself if you wanted some 
you said save me 
the crunchy salad parts 
the rusted larks and this country of hearts 
you say you live in hope for ...

are we going to shit here and now 
or has the post office scared us constipated 
with their gang of mad maxian thieves 
and assassins like some imagined borderlands 
we've been assigned to protect
but we knew this already 
prisons were of our own design 
but you yes you I've imagined slurping 
are my darling 
sitting somewhere next to me 
in some scenario 
red to indigo 
you say pick a color 
on the wheel 
and spin, asking yourself ...

"can't you always hear music if you listen 
within the constructs of making love work with me ? " ... 

and while I searched myself for answers 
you just kept dancing anyways 
how I imagine I love you for that 
up against my walls 
and thoughts and ideas 
half thought out, then implemented 
with collateral damages 
already actuary tabled figured in ... 

the processes and the fee structures 
of the hot summer outside 
is this clown face science 
and bombast substitution 
part of the eternal rhythm 
of human and sub frequency 
communication ...

(replicating teletype movie sound now)

cost bearing guilt trips 
took over for taxing my humanity 
as the woe man upstairs 
stands by and allows me 
to rape 
my sense 
of belonging 
here on Earth ... 

(storybook fable segue mythology now)

a pied 
piper style 
has made the most of us 
and we pay 
for this life 
and its attendant death 
birth to burial 
conscription clauses 
and circuses 
we're bread to hate here 
because empty plates 
are socially keen manipulators 
and we know 
our pulses 
innately when bleeding out 
don't we poem ... 

love works our good corners 
at night with streetlights replacing 
the coal parts with diamond almost ...

because when we have faith 
in our selves 
we are 
the brightest lights 
shadows will love 
even after we 
have left each other 
behind in all our expressions ... 

skipping-ly the evening is whippy buggy sticky 
stockyards of milkweed have gone to pod 
attendant queen anne's lace is a-pacing 
in all the possible butterfly future-d maybe(s) of me 
milled fabrics of destinies and seasons passing 
hide time along the rail tracks, road sides 
and river banks, don't they darling ... 

and calendar keepers 
they follow me 
painting too 
the odd collected 
pieces of my life 
strewn behind me
all that I owe 
to me being broken 
and the you 
that came along 
to see what happens 
next when I sing 
my poem 
my soul 
my shadow 
my body electric ...

EJR ©