April 28, 2017

suckling poems in heady scented tall rye, eye surrenders all ..................................... NaPoWriMo2017 #28




who was it decay fathom-ists broken doll faces in the pillar candles 
we dreamed in lofty exhales, exchanged glances under the flicker light 
why do we have so many clothes, vestibule mud room, wear stored 
leather of the soul stretched over found animal skulls, you call, I call 
corners and noise marked consumption waves, sin (e)lephants, doppler 
their call, thunder when the grasslands burn ... 

im-balancing  my checking out accounts 
I spend most of my time trying to find 
where I fit into the matrix 
is it all illusions and observable ones at that 
the affix themselves up to be lamprey to lake trout 
and you kow tow to know 
zebra mussels are but one 
kind of invader species 
because any lord knows, we know 
invader species, leaky roofs 
those rooms with plastic over the furniture 
rooms for when good company comes over 
and because we never seem to be 
good company anymore 
those rooms are eaten 
with shadowy white noise
I listen to the grace 
of this social decay 

sometimes I find listening 
to a box fan 
more interesting 
then what is on TV 
though I admit when stoned 
everything has good story telling 
especially those 
ancient alien shows 
especially when I am stoned 
Ben and Jerry's in the freezer 
tub of popcorn as my side car \
water and mandarin oranges 
on the ready ...

inside this world 
outside any window 
of any life you care 
dare or share 
to remember here 
the seasons race 
by and bye 
milk gland-ing eggs 
hoops and spindles 
sold straw 
prospect daughters 
waters we always knelt to 
rains mostly, cold Spring days 
edges, reins, reigns, reality 
in the ugly headed rearing 
back to that island near Mexico City 
where an artist hung thousands of found dolls 
no longer part of the joy of this world 
and we live vicariously, selling narrative(s) 
soul, and spirit, death becoming 
old odd ambled may be(s)  
tourist attractions 


EJR ©

1 comment:

  1. I spend most of my time trying to find
    where I fit into the matrix

    I know I need to open the grid of my mind
    where there is a land that is spacious

    show me light as sometimes darkness blinds
    poetry and song in spring are flirtatious

    My muse seems to still find something in your poetry to entertain me :)
    Taking a drink from the word well, feeling vivacious.







    ReplyDelete