April 17, 2017

I was a Rumpelstiltskin Goodfellow that April, hooked into my inner telekinetic madness AKA my miller's daughter and crone fetish .................................................. NaPoWriMo2017 #17

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 
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 ... 



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    1. Gave rise to a funny thought and a poem followed me home :)