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 ©
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