April 6, 2017

entropic capitulation(S) ..................................................... NaPoWriMo2017#6

The Frear building
reflected in the Atrium glass
downtown Troy, NY

don't you want to know the world of yes ovum womb phallus 
"eve was weak" a voice from the corner of the darkened room boomed 
"you should have seen it when the demon put it in me" 
the voice continued in Star Trek transportation mode 
and soon there I was
it was a nice hospital the orderlies wore pink gowns Ginsberg's america 
played on repeat ritual through the loudspeakers 
nurse ratchet gave blowjobs I like it here deciding kite riding is 
old department store justice, it was just us and a no camera world 
we filled our pockets with die cast cars and sped down the hill 
off to our atomic fed futures with nothing assured save 
inhale exhale and what thoughts raced through our minds 
we were america we were young we were waiting to be eaten 
we were waiting to be eating the moral forks watching 
the cows the Moons the roofs and the spoons 
were wading syringes found being on the road 
we are wear here where hypocrisy is the rule of law 
and walls come in all sorts shapes and sizes 
sandbags and levees we need the rain free 
we knead free reign we kneed to be rein free 

on our walks 
we threw figurines with dental floss tied to their feet 
over found garden walls 
imagined them scouts for righteous causes 
we said to each one before we flung them  
"You give to me what Love breathes me with, You"

coda: in the divine light 
if you create 
enjoy the arc 
seed to vine to afterbirth too 
create to your core 
and worry not about attainment 
please do not ignore the less than noble places 
your soul and ego take you to 
for surrendering to the process, to the journey 
will greet you with all the faces Love paces each 
of your breaths with 
this devotion to a flightless bird 
needs to be held sometimes 
because falling under the spell of ourselves 
isn't always felt to be 
the flying climbs 
and delves 
of inner to outer 

each of these daily poems 
are low tide crawling fours 
jugular ambling inside my mind 
I am not that into construction 
as much as I am into 
finding where 
and who 
my bottomless desire 
to be me 
rides off bleeding 
in the stain 
of glass with ...


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