I don't write, I paint myself blind with words...diogenes herded...ignorance...gilded cages...filling up on beauty unleashed...free will's maddening fractures...eyes that need to smell to see...
June 20, 2017
When writing a Joe Hollander poem ...
give me the artifice and the daydreams :
what I am when poem
what in me bleeds
mostly at night
when the dew
takes inventory
of every story
telling or told ...
(this is a vague recollection of observation
a filling in with fuzzy truth though I feel it to
be an elucidation for us
to fall into
at least a well
and sometimes
good enough to drown
joy and sorrows
between these
parentheses
for example
culling and cunning
share the same tailor)
-
-
two 10mg V's, one trumpet joint
and four margaritas later
I'm stealing crystal ashtrays
from the dark Beverwyck
green glass and brass
stuffing 'em in a long coat
then clanging-ly stumbling up Lark
towards the Q ...
oh and to snapshot
the proof of ransom's need
the sweet corn
is approaching knee high length
that's what the tomato divas said
to end the poem with anyways
Fourth of July
references
Julius Caesar
colloquialisms
and all that jazz ...
EJR ©
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