the five states of being (s)matter(ing) me .............................................. (poem says don't forget about us)

I am potato with eye-limbs, tuber nightshade
and poems are my whim-aggregate masses 
we are bones, cage cycles and soul music ...

my intentions are often bent shuns, 
poem becomes me 
demented lunacy 
can be sad 
but social like a movie quote 
or sweet and strong aperitif ...

we are often just off 
the mark, drift-y enough 
to appear haphazardly 
in musical happenstance ... 

I am/we are poem, 
accretion-al illusion 
the average, almost 
of my/our 
last five forays, 
mind you ... 

we are 
hive aware 
or knotted to mad 
Fibonacci sequencing 
while wile is 
a past life be 
a damning tree 
a sometimes, Winter seeks ...

I  like nautilus shells 
and poems says me 
is a verb conscious state 
and is always going to be 
a well of hell's certainty 
adorned in a hand 
to basket mythology ... 

we take to gifting upon calling 
an invite, linen lined woven wood 
jam and bread with an assortment of teas ...

and lest we forget, poem 
heaven is in a reader's eyes 
especially when 
word doors open 
the nose 
and windows 
saying otherwise ...

and lips 
and tongue 
well, they bowsprit 
the silence 
that eats need 
and want 
for language 
that describes 
having something to do 
besides enjoying how 
You and I tie 
the ends of things 
into beginnings 
or maybe we just like 
being, in the rain ...

EJR ©