April 15, 2017

Priam striding in moonlight ....................................... NaPoWriMo2017 #15





He likes primate hiding in night 
when the Moon's right 
thinking He is Jupiter 
ply-paying-paying 
a catch me Sun 
to rise as You can ...

the fir trees are armed eating sorrows 
when and where the morrows reach 
in shepherd fruit tree early bloom jazz 
there is room for every vignette saved you(s) 
shoe boxes full of Polar-oids, movie stub maybe(s) 
all the why ways You came stay hazy(s)
Mary Magdalene and Lilith were Gethsemane leaning in slay(s) 
Golgotha had all right, Saturday Night fever 
in olives and wine spilling where a table once stood 
soldiers on the ready, not withstanding evidence 
or even understanding 
the plan was to kill everyone 
by their own hands and blind faith
but Love got in the work  
again, and no one knows 
how many are needed 
to trip line the story 
as Earth being reborn ...

reboot-ed salvation-ists 
are the gist, the guests of the grist mill 
mules and asses turning stones \
with old growth timber 
hand hewn smooth strewn tales 
each wish is a fish 
a calendrical angel 
falling our way '
we, poem and I, till to harvest 
day time when 
a single star feeds us light 
and night time reminds us, fight 
for Love grows in the dark 
especially when the fae 
sway toes swinging 
up into the sky ...

what the trees wrote on the blackboard 
when non one was looking ... 

"What if everything you believed in, 
was based on a holographic corroborative lie ... 
reflection in a pond at night: ritualized time signatures 
akin to fae scents transporting you back 
to when you smiled without provocation ..."

chances are at some point 
you will wish crooning 
never went out of style ... 

and that you never knew trees 
could feel things too 
viscous vicious eggs and beets 
pickled in glass jar revelry 
your hands end up stream 
crawling the fallen angels route 
of self discovery, bees and Prometheus 
children with Antigone 
eyeball of Oedipus 
slung around her neck ...

head water rafting 
tsk-ing zither and bullfrogs again 
approach of midnight dances with me ... 

so many things we did 
swallowed us 
were swallowed by us 
we peed golden streams 
pharmacological night mares 
brood morning found in alley after surgeries 
we go to the barber shops 
red and white pole blood spills then 
we understood nothing except 
to keep going after keys 
quests to each of the kingdoms 
that ever were raced or seemed stolen 
or at least tethered to circumstances 
nearing to pass what impossible, 
the word, was designed for ...

EJR ©

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