 |
| 'Lila Lee', Alfred Cheney Johnston c 1920 |
lucid wave after wave
and in angry turns
in timid plum jealous depths
of the ocean
where light dare not go
water is the cradle
salt to iron to rivers
back to the seas
but down here
it demands atom
to molecular purities
hallowed dow ages
in songs of rain
once maybe
surely, eventually
we were once
a comet or dark matter sponge
conscious hive gravity courtesans and wobbles
magnetic accretion elliptical(s)
calendars we wobble too
see the poem
bethe poem
ribbon the peel of sky
Icarus and Antigone stole to free Prometheus
they had children thieves of night
had stars where eyes should be
could smell time like wolves
sometimes I get lost on purpose
just to see
if I can crawl scent
to dream where home
is spring to winter
jars, cellar and hearth
words in the glass
pasta thrown to the ceiling once
painted over to feed Befana
poem says here stop here
I want to walk
into the desert night
with its cold reach bouquet
dead lights as shiny tombstones
where suns used to be
and at the end of every poem
there is a story
reflecting need
and desire
to play act
and roll with it
some of us
always too young
to die become dolls
inside dolls
scent and dust
what must
that does
with perhaps
a little music
you've made up
for this little vignette
coda again my friends
starting with another question
and leap off the deep end
are we tubules
neutrino praise geometry
scatter moving
the sea of noise
no one can alter reality
without adhering to the water cycle
are we seed seep bleed
are we too tied to the cage clouds
and ways we weigh memory and instinct
why we worship our soul
sly whole regards wholly holed
worm or otherwise dark matter turbine
turpitude northern latitudes
how rude of me to want to step off the rain
how do I explain I had a chance to burn with reach
for ribbon-ed inside each other infinities ...
I sink into the abyss
the bliss chalices trapeze art cling savor flavors
are agents of the nose and scent gardens with an intensity
not yet met with ration, reason and those paper cuts
on our tongues, poems rom licking time off of calendars
who am I and I say lust in a dissolve
I revolve revolt against the self
to tithe and tie myself to the mainsail
staff belly surfing the ride
water will take when finding places
where little stars court
and spark the larks to murmuring
about faces countenances
the dances of aggregates
hurtled pierce arrows of air fire and Earth
mimicking the beat and we dance always
in places we store
our things, our rings we hold on to
when we need when we hen weed
bleed the poem wordless plea I invoke the emptying the sagebrush
life as a thrush who knows how old stones paint the dreams in hydrogen
and oxygen bonding we plant praying to the wild
to return to us in song and ritual movement fined hewn handed
symphonic interludes of spirit entering expression
hear herd heard temple-d trembling rumbling tumbles
stumble over the slick coat of night when Winter
and the exhales explain purpose
with an etch-a-sketch memory implant
the window in the kitchen
of your soul
follow the Moon
and the Sun
and every time you wash
the dishes you have cleared as those you serve
are guiding nutrient spell logic the paradises
palladium stadium desire allows anonymity
symmetry with chaos
we weave care to breathe
deceive ourselves into believing humanity
is the one tattoo we cannot deny Hamlet in the reeds
waiting, wading wearing where worn with womb lies
in the phone booth I remember them coin drop jangle language
words like rye I am almost done here you got the fusion codes
or do you want pizza with root beer and those little sugar poisons
you have grown so fond of ... we are always at the river's edge
keeping count of days and nights we sway rhythm and ecstasy
captured embraces of where light races when first declaring
are wearing of bones is cage that rages against dying time
tine pine forest bare armed deciduous sentry harking
WIP (work in progress) interlude back to poem
sickness is poem
healthy regard is poem
madness is poem
I am poem
this is the lap and puppet conversation
at the end of this poem
" ... ten penny alley jack-knifing the squid lid fidgeting hat
and pass that which makes you see to, see through
bones and cages, rages and sages, pointillistic timelessness
we blink poems, clawing fingers loam, therapy art linger
you loved the underground shops in Montreal, we got stoned
on hash we bought from an Algerian cabbie and kept eating more
we un-stored ourselves onto the neon and white brick slid light
we fought the need to bleed in laughter tones, palms out wide reaching
tied to tide tithed tight titular blight we both said mother may many
many times ... "
EJR ©
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hello there ...