I wear thorns horns that
pierce and poke worn words
and illicit emotions I rid myself of ...
last night vomiting on the sidewalk
in front of my apartment building
I became some bad bubble
comic conversation with the witching hour
the pizza wasn't bad so much as being cold with lonely
on a Saturday night when the west wind climbs in
through old panes toothing the night
with the husks and shells of need ...
yes I bleed walking
talking taking a leading role
of tomfoolery sunshine in a pocket ...
the locks are set
and I didn't forget my scarf
to warm my neck with surrender
in case I happen upon
Maiden, Mother and Crone
in the reeds again
where they pan tides
whispering there's magic
in the rain Edward
take time to sow your scent
when you fall
EJR ©
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