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| illustration by Josh Kirby © |
if a cacophonous hippopotamus
found its way into your story
would you have time
for plausible deniability
truth it seems,
has never made it back
in style or otherwise applied
in these longing for old times
in these new ages
we are constantly visiting
for answers, for destinations
for poems wear,
showing where we
forgot how to ride ...
we have no reason to incline
they said with bewilderment
we're wanting to be Life in a poem
moving about, antennae short waving it
through thick and thin
we find surprise variants rampant
these days when joy wants a home
to be a comforted view
of what the soul and spirit
knew to do to the body
when it rebelled
a bone cage
breathy accordion
hand organ
again
we goat skinned wine
we held vigil parties
late hour-ed eviscerates
all we had once celebrated
we denigrated with ideas
of beauty we could put in reverse
with an Annine Everson piñata
we were at another
precipice moment
in our tenacious cling
of stewardship to Earth
when we noticed
crone magic wombs
were tending things unseen
in a slow apocalypse symphony
who among you can dismay
so readily the perils children face
today placemat pall bearing
the wearing of our indulgences
still we deny leaving a mess
oh the blessings addressing
what we owe in roe chains
of command, lands of milk
and honey don't come cheap
you know, so we hand over
our gold coins, cows
scarlet letters
and runner beans
there are no giant vines
here in this poem
only treasuring
the egg layers
pursued by slayers
of community trust
and the collective mind
you see, the scents
behind the curtains
are wizardly types plying
politics, barters, trades and wares
marionette-ing push carts
and peddlers
every sunrise
trying to stave off
the stain
of dying time
because at the end of this poem
Lady Macbeth is left
wandering the hallways
EJR ©
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