image by EJR |
"...when I stare long enough
at the light bulbs overhead
only one of which works
sometimes I can ping leaves
at the light bulbs overhead
only one of which works
sometimes I can ping leaves
in the trees near you now
rustling whisking whisper soft
to a moonless womb sky
I think no not think I smell feel
fall muddy knees palmed tides
rise after rise seasons
of soul in tithed bones
each articulation
and gesture
reminds me
of your name
when playing your billows
of kind knives and carve
of kind knives and carve
on through wind and eon..."
I gave her my throat
she gave me entireties
of life in ritual murmuring(s),
from ancient rain
to the morning dew
already setting up camp
outside her window
she had candles lit
and was singing to herself
while twirling rapt
wrapping herself
in an unfurled bolt
of pretty fabric
she sang :
"...yes I do love
to imagine the smell
of his pine forests
with the dappled sentinels
of hardwoods
there for council
of trees..."
preambling
causeways
tumble alice
and hare
I remember Winter came
and the winds drew their rakes
and breaths from the North
rawly squeezing angled light
we would play grand long
puppet and shadow theater
for a few precious moments
when the hearth was always
a-roaring and sweet clove
and nutmeg spiced the fruit pies
we gladly traded our eyes
for noses then
when Winter came
the invite
the accept
the moment of inertia
the exit velocity of love
and the non-brambling comforts fed thee
in a world that is desperate
in its stubbornly clung non believe(s)
I flit and spit bubble
the lid askew and ask you
what have you tonight
when the moon veil avails
a maddening glee
of bark and circumstance
to dance in the joys
of the Mudville nine
and county fairs
I met her,
she was some dulcet eyed
cabaret the movie extra,
drew me away
from the neon come on(s)
of ten penny's alley
and into a dark misted waiting
spread like poems waiting
over slicked cobbled stones
she sang stories
said I made her feel
I never mention she steals my breath
or that I never minded gasping for a bit
when bitten such as this
I was grateful
for entry and womb
I say there are many curled
into tales to regale here,
she laughs, says listen
to the tombstones they're whistling back
at you in a glide language
of spirit chambering-a-ling-ling-ing
they want you telephoned booth-ed
bring more food next time
for the elders take back
to feed their sanctuaries
where they stoke humanity's
inner mounting flames
carrying little else
of any use
or matter to them...
and then the crickle-crackle spun overtures begin
to the tunes in the piles of old records in the corner
she says they turn her to ribbons and angular undone
and because this is exactly the kind of ache
to be felt ghost glow soul to bone
I left little numerical sequences
in the hoarfrost and around the house when Winter came ...
little poems sometimes too when she strode the kitchen on a
stretch when Winter came and really roared
and the windows steamed up
diffused artful slag angel Sun
as it gave way to Holly
and the bare arms
of a Winters' night
in the southern mountain
reaches of the Boreals ...
she says come and eat now
while I stare out the window
looking at the trees
past the barn's yard
where the chickens
dart for her attention
you know darling as I am
drinking this coffee you poured
from that blue enamel pot
I became aware a ware
of when Winter comes
and cardinals are set afire
against barren berry bushes
what hushes us
in rushed light
what sounds whispers
clasp us with, what dreams
like a lone seed
wanting to be a forest
to bird migration song
I sometimes imagine
that I can hear
snowy weather sing
looking out a warm
kitchen window
with you
"...velveteen rabbit knows you'
and always loves to hear you laugh..."
I wore red silk around my eyes and bared my throat long ago
and apple to fall again I do to wear your imperceptible(s)
turning to the undersides of things kindly
with Mother may I
deliberately taking stock in passages of time
when lacing infinity to the colors
we express when feeling
human and divine,
Lord she says and
the smell of lemon seed oil
is ever present, thumb thimble
nimble sages spun loom wheeling the willing
to find where flow wolves live to love
she taught me how to bypass
thievingfingertips the grip was part kung fu
part falling as rain
belief a lad insane I remember playing bowie
somewhere too
staying up late on Friday night
when a yard sale salty rides
on a Saturday weighted when we could
an old rusty nail and belly lint carried with what a palm sweat
can get one needs served well within pail and toll...
magic is si cig am wave evaw bubble elbbub spit tips
weave me loom-er I
hear laughter in the dulcet sweep
shadows along the stores
and pantries waiting...
floor skirt and broom
singing her own
song always...
know lattice dendrite water's jacobian ladder structures and
said viscosity sew eye mist herd two became binary code and away the algorithm spent sped and fed into each other...
ugly sticking the craw fisheries the frenzy of storms in painted
insides of eyelids no need for a head language poem bellows
lord and stupid by gait and strung bell approach of parcel and
parting ways with numbing fuckeriesthe raw pieces of me fever for the the morning dew and that you stretching spine and lovelies pounce pan pace with stories of glorious follies that bleakened most outlooks should I lose sight of where I was...
bi-cellular like the stomach lining
they call to the ancient lore temples
through telomere breakdown language
and this is often mistaken
as cicada-esque hissing buzz noise
from high tension wires
strung in angry lace
over the landscape(s)
in the fields
of electromagnetic dissonance
spectral carbuncles appear
where desire for control
supersedes chaise lounge chaos
and infinity
why are you troubled darling
she asks and trembling
a 'watership down' feeling of dread
I answer
I don't know
and it is in this embrace
I place my humanity
hell in hand-baskets and using luck
to find a fisherman's wife
who knows her way
through woods
wombs and decay
and quick to laugh she is,
she says, "when rabbits leap brooms
and the deepest wells bloom
right there you're your own damn self ..."
EJR ©
I love you, Edward.
ReplyDeleteAw shucks and thank you ...
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