he held himself, a penny, pun, a jab jangled hope
and confection in a paper sack
he rubber chased shadows working
angles for angels, dirty faced/
he knows there are
no fleeting infinities
in this story
there is only hubris
and the masks
of monkeys
and their kings
he shines, smiles
shit filled
insignificance ...
you see we waste
wear most gold is
the silt and bend of rain between
small potato size stones
we otherwise pass on by
walking calendars
by river's sides
the arc and line
of tale is ugly stick-ed here,
as poet pearl dives an allegorical
and scatological poisoning of the cats
the electrons are not there
mirror near, fear of aging
is where clarity is
what you seek
muddy visors, adds and subtracts
the glad tidings basin is full of dried flowers
eye once meant to perfume my stink
room, womb and tomb with, for
eve n a broken man wades
poem bones for patterns
today will always seek
only to find, ghosts
willing you
what gets through
to other sides
of any me
you held with
hope and
glue ...
EJR ©
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hello there ...