April 25, 2017

western Illinois, flatter than Kansas ................................. NaPoWriMo2017 #25

tying the scabs, custard crustaceans stain my boils 
river clung folks know the cycles 
of seasons and reason to merge them 
would you like to mete my feather 
the pleasure is all mine spine articulate oceans 
fin mining binary systems of stapled eyes 
Dylan coal bright eaten into sky spied desolation 
fields farmed and dark hungry roams 
stretching mile after mile in rural streetlamp-less AMerica 
Dawn is a hungry east when Beltane dances late April, lyrical scars 
and czars part with painted glass and horses, 
we fold in the chronologies avoiding writing them down unabridged 
we magic eye everything keeping loose stepped lucidity our best friend 
phone booth-ing the soul we ride when no one is looking 
'shadowfax, pegasus and Orion follow Iris to where Moon never 
bothers to look, womb black salt, thirsty for iron 
and the raucous joys of bowling while drinking beer ...

meanwhile the cat chews are somewhat tasty 
and I pray all the mothers guard the pups 
middle of the night 
middle of the road 
middle of the why 
middle of the poem 
here we saw to it 
that the words died 
but didn't give off a scent 
we used electricity 3V small pin adapters 
to star gaze what sights 
gave their bones to memory 
hairy=while gravity worked the nomenclature calendars 
hip phila fila-greed breeding the chance orientation 
half the maps inside you are made up  
can you believe now canyon eel 

nowhere now here where on was 
plus and minus of any equation 
juniper as Summer approaches 
reminds me of cat piss 
and I like the cello ass 
and the way past your bed time 
slip stream of words and fingers 
and the tourniquet pleasure 
of thought spigot hot high Sun 
coming to all the picnics this year 

old pock marks of past lives 
become secreted pictures 
bubbling like crude oil 
to the top of clock time 
in a leather satchel found while cleaning 
a house that kept a couple twined til death 
did one part them while madness 
in the form of a long grey goodbye 
sought the wane of the other 
the livery of their Life 
and Love pieces of eight 
soul and memory 
now, then and again 
all the things we keep 
that keep us 
an old hearth 
over taken by 
early tall rye


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