January 4, 2017

equo mortuo domino domus odore florum

The Temptation of St. Anthony, Dali, 1946

She said would say things with Her eyes incalculable fables 
spilling a delta boil o'er paper covered table 
late afternoon Sun and the heady rye sways
 in the exhales of the trees ... we were listening to jazz, 
old jazz, Edward, She would say ... 
is movie soundtrack geometry ... 
looping perl knit tie ribbon and spit the bubble 
from the pots we filled with soup last Winter ... 
We look out to the sea wrapped in the embrace of scent, salt
 the pale slag ochre of Summer sunlight leaning ... 
Do you think the trees know poems or tones, I ask, 
She laughs and says Edward ... 
trees are poems and complete ones at that
 in fact they reach the sky, crawling wombs 
listen to the tomes of the cliff cedars throughout 
this great river-ed unquantifiable world of ours 
of sometimes when 

there is no shame 
there are many blames 
there's only gamers  
played by the tamers 
on Elysian fed electromagnetic fields 
pitched pined predicted 
we score or not 
interdependent infinite mutual sublimation 
nation upon nation, empires 
social democracies and between(s) ...

meanwhile during commercial break 
I feed myself, myself 
ugly toes first 
damn I got man feet 
and retreat to get something sweet 
to sauce them with ...

the scene stirs repeatedly 
algorithm licking sticking points 
and molly in the water 
helps cull your daughters 
from their relationship with Eve 
and then more importantly, Lilith 
but that is Rumpel's st ory 
and we leave it to his telling 
as it is a joyful romp through the hubris 
of over protective parenting 
of an inner child 
running far from 
being behind us 
more straw please 
heard throughout 
the night as womb 
birds of time 
wait for bones 

(more from morning write) 

sticking out is sorely dumb numbed 
use psy-ops nonsensical ciphers 
for calculate(s) are bots with voracious appetites 
for circumvention of soulful intention 
did I mention door number 2 was always grand 
and the stands we take 
are why we drive 
with silly things 
on the dashboard

will you be my hula girl 
I'll drive all night 
in the right ways 
chaos comforts you 
uncomfortably raw 
but willing to be waded 
and to wade 
mist and yoga poses 
supposes hoses for horses 
and when we reach a destination 
immediate rebuking of said place 
being motionless would abdicate stasis 
and the journey just laughs 
seeds every dream with 
are you enjoying the ride ...
well ... are you ?

EJR  ©

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