I don't write, I paint myself blind with words...diogenes herded...ignorance...gilded cages...filling up on beauty unleashed...free will's maddening fractures...eyes that need to smell to see...
April 10, 2017
matching accessories for what warm April evening is wearing ................................... NaPoWriMo2017 #10
black velvet traipsed over dark rural roads
a storm is coming, you can feel it
tingle skinning the air o'er unfurling grasses
and eager trees in blooming reaches
electric fingers, light bearers
saying every Spring, Tesla knew
what we do, how about you
well, few think through
what is timeline jumping
loophole acrobatics as well as
those fuzzy mullein lambs' ears
I am so fond of collecting in the morning
after night finishes dancing between clouds
and dead light stardust falling fast past me
inside echoes of things left unsaid ...
we were eyes once, sight alone
but noses knew how to grow memories
into actuation and Love's door
so we moved, danced like fools again
for sorrow and sin eating
for tomorrow and feeding
the children, wonder
and awe, apples
seeding all we saw
you, as contestant, are sold
our world ending as destructive
but the cloaks of womb magic
as well as newborns and the rebirth-ed
need the Earth a-peeling
every once in awhile
and I climbed the vines
what tine-d expression
of explanation might have been
had we all grown up in Love
with dictionaries
and their pronunciation
gazetteers
strangely languid, angels rode thunder bells
they wore factorial steeped blithe tea
as this night Spring sky weep-ed with me
one by one, two by two each algorithm
an odd paired sock, a fitted woo ...
and now I must admit
when in grade school
I huffed glue a time or two
but it didn't grow into a habit
I had dreamed
of what nuns wore
underneath
knowing souls had holes
so I switched to free base
to cover the holes in my soul
where pain got in
and watched Life slip away
Chiron-ed in long goodbyes
but Hope has a way
of quietly pocketing day
secret bread to break
with dawn and aurora
as they are want us to do
the waving crones
with wrapped water hair
are wearing white
and the mushrooms knew
to dance in the footprints
they leave behind
buckle buckle wrinkle
in time laced paces
and places we keep the shoes
for just such an occasion
EJR ©
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hello there ...