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| 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
outside
(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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