the black
and white
of each moment
we become aware in
we are a ware in
we are wearing
what we were
willing to sacrifice wholly
while listening
to the fuzzy cries
of something ...
like mullein-poems, as lions
are always hungry
especially those
that like to learn
just to forget
in order to learn
reading pulses
hearts and lungs
reaching to drink
this from another's neck
whether weathered
metaphor
or not
for example
is one of our eternal tomes
and really, a must read ...
I wonder why I get depressed
loyalty to the soul it seems
is at an all time low
reading for pleasure way down too
the act of reading in and of itself is
less grand ritual of words, grace and intention
than it is a terse propping
up of shallow emotionalism
easy consumption
versus deep tined
voracious free thinking
ride that train
for awhile without being
a hermit, I dare ya ...
today I made the mistake
of reading the news again
crockeries abound, everything is rife brambles
thorns and cults of access
weighted bloom lotteries sold
with a soothing kind of shyster spin
a circus barker harking
the din light, serenading
in what maybe(s) me and again,
what of us in the dark
would unfurl, under imprecise
gas lamp, wrought iron
crept dew
after midnight
calibrations ...
is ten penny alley
meant to be
filled with echoed
"I wonder"s, I wonder ...
I wonder
about this current wave of apathy
our ritual adhesions and hierarchies
their corresponding riptides
tsunamis and undertows
as I play mirror mirror-ing me
in the puddle drop circles
of an early morning rain
do butterflies really
cause hurricanes ...
is a chance to be born
always going to be there
for the you,
you see trying
to circumvent the me
I wonder, why, Love
is not as commonplace
as one might pace
Life eternal with,
is that childlike awe,
I possess
when reading,
always going to be there
are books always going to take me places
or have me feel at home
are they always going to be
my saving graces,
when I am most vulnerable
will they always
be there ...
always?
I wonder,
I wonder
EJR ©
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photo by me
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