Baba Yaga said
to cover myself in tampons
on strings and thick pads
before going on this blind date
I found myself smilingly
attempting a rupicapra rupicapra tune
I sounded like a drunken Elvis
with a mouth full of marbles
a barker, a teased opened window to night
I asked, do goats sleep walk
and talk like we do ...
I was holding a mop
crooning-ly leaning
faux Gene Kelly-ing myself
into each note
of improv, images
and words
and it went
something like this
"hope you are my new found Carrie
please, rage on and into me" ...
for with Love I absorb
what eyes birth in me
scent as beautiful as
Persephone is Kali tonight
and together we are
cunning and culling
we are and will be
after all and eventually
what worms eat
so why not enjoy
this bursting thirst
of molten iron
from our beginning
to spun magnetic core ...
as for the date
we went to Baba's house
and licked the North wall
I'm all sticky now
and Carrie's wickedly decided
on me being a crotch tongue
and undecided on human fate
though we found out
we're both prone to liking
hard boiled to runny eggs
coloring poems with them ...
we went on and on
wrapping ourselves around
them poems and eggs
all the varieties, vagaries
and various other things
gathered with fertility
on the altars and sills ...
for when Spring
doth begin to burn
ripening towards Summer
in feast and repose
we fall from Autumn
through Winter's
aching long night
and on occasion, it shows
us to be
thriving elegantly
each, embraced
observation
inhale
exhale
timing it all
by surrender ...
we knew to sing
a familiar tuning
in familiar phrasing
we became
lambs and lions
filled yards phasing
we were searchlights, clocks ...
we looked with ease
we said more please
we begged to each other
as children might have
halfway through the 1970's
we listened to Neil Diamond records
on an old Philco player, wood cabinet
and we talked all night about being AM radio forever(s)
inside a made smaller and smaller, by the FM only, world ...
EJR ©
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