January 7, 2017

heaven sent like a tinfoil hat ...



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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