there are no damning parts of us ...................................................... NaPoWriMo2017 #30

we made it through, poem and eye 
nose knew those then begging 
were somehow wishing 
the picture was less image 
and more scent 
as memory 
remembers best 
while looking within 
thunder and convulsions of an old cat seizing with 
an 'I remember to remember' 
everything has a smell 
you want to carry with you 
for safeguarding against 
or posterity's sake 
or at least self relevance, 
memento-ized 

dusty ramparts lamp arts somewhere in outer space 
the elite have built a place with access to plebes 
and other classifications, only by lottery dream card, 
subscriptions to an afterlife 
dependencies on outside 
structured good behaviors 
systemic interlude-al 
recital tired rites 
rolling rights 
we ask you 
to read them 
speak them rhythm-ed 
to us beyond 
small sample sized 
identity kits 
you complete 
the shallow grafting 
of our bones 
under spotlight
and vetting processes 

what is good behavior, the cardinal sings, 
starkly on fire against the swath exploding green 
of a cold wet Spring morning 
in moments like these, future 
is a thought paused 
while observing the weather 
with a cigarette 

I question more than less of me, 
what I see, what I dare feel as myself, shelf leaning 
are poems, mine or yours, ours or noted collections 
mason jars patina-ed to yesteryear as we like them to be 

who was, is irrelevant, who is just is 
and the rest of the time poem is eye wanting 
to be a nose, wanting to be 
wanting to be wanting wanting to see 
sight is something worth being blind for 

I desire to be a lantern 
held more for spite 
so someone might 
see that I too 
have my eyes closed, here 

I hear calm voiced sweet sorrows fill backgrounds 
warm pies rise on sill, waiting still like most things 
for their number to be called 

words are coded to ancient texts 
we drive the myriads with sects 
and different dictionaries 
of the ritual clings 

we are always that cardinal 
clung to the sway bend 
of a pine, heavy 
with last night's rain 
southerlies desperate 
to race over 
the miles and miles 
the tilled earth of my rural sojourn 

I am waded desolation(s) 
deprivations too 
rung with power 
and surrender 
for any what 
that can be known 
when a poem ends 
goodbye-ing a satisfying 
NaPoWriMo ...


EJR ©