April 2, 2017

do you ever grieve when someone else is losing their innocence .................. NaPoWriMo2017 #2


photo by Ronald L. Haeberle
(in the public domain)


poem says I knew what Constantine's Mother knew
war lore and more proxy wars 
we're whores for them 
hidden in the dark inside flag draped coffins 
I like to snake between your eyes 
and thoroughly disappear ...

from a conscious thought 
poem and I burrow, ghost glow-n 
young men and women 
things that will burn 
a child's mind ...

I ask every lizard king I ever meet 
do the retinas of our souls wear 
everything as a staged-easy consumption ...?

this, poem says 
is a very American way of life 
being what pervades 
the waking life 
into a world aghast 
at how we are fed 
the women and children 
grin to=ground flesh ... 

fear has physical might 
and it is an insatiable machine 
milk and honey it seems 
is nothing but figment-ed dreams 
Pandora heard laughing 
in the distance 
at the end of every song here ...

I'm in the Midwest 
eye cede I'm seeded 
with seedy dreams 
of corn syrup and sawdust 
I disguise my self 
a shelf life elf nose 
filled with cellulose ...

are soybeans gluten free 
I overhear someone ask 
at Denny's while chasing sleep 
and eggs anytime of night 
the factoids of my poems 
are often surreal 
with teal cups of tea 
reading my story by entrails ...

this poem, especially seeks 
to peeks at and
about the bottom lines 
of most mined life false narratives 
just as we do 
in the eternal wandering 
of a mind at night 
we're not taking chances 
so we leave the vestal corpses 
with close relatives 
like the horses 
Yankee Doodle dandy 
and randy Uncle Sam 
so often rode in on ...

we still shoot women and children 
every chance and circumstance 
we can dance to death with 
for to us, faithfully or pain free 
any newly departed 
is a life sped off the rails 
some part of us 
sent to a dead letter office 
by way of golden stairs 
or elevator of material ascension ...

humanity as spirit is 
slowing ever slowing, a soul once
as poem become stuck then stilled  
just as someone will often blush 
caught in public when they've farted ...

poem says always watch 
a library burn 
even the one in your town 
for Hypatia is slain 
time and again 
tile and stone 
hope waiting for an urn ...

Constantine's legacy 
was felling the prevailing winds 
his Mother's ships 
full of knowledge 
setting sail 
for a tomorrow 
that never needed to know 
who may be next as long as there was 
someone in line, wanting to be found 
instead, scattered on the roadside, dead 
as a dream once ago, nailed to a church door ...

EJR ©

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