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...
July 17, 2017
his story, her story
I have heard you can lie a thousand times to God and not cry
I wish sometimes I had those kinds of eyes, ones not easy to pry
but therein lay the rub, human beings and their dub kingdoms with
co-opted adopted principles to pauses, causes all filling tombs, sieves
what have you got to give, Life and Love and the occasional rib
do you dare yourself past myriad blowjob fantasies to gain a dib
well the spawn rain explains much but only in loner, longer views
we've need to bleed whilst in the drapery bones our souls do use
(choral cattle chattel chatter
splatter body fluid flew to it
stasis osmosis and a news cycle
of constancy's redundancy and
charming chameleon futures)
we stand beneath
frenzied fronds fray
reaching for the sky
so we may
catch the dates
as they fall
haphazardly
free, oddly wobbled
and sometimes
seeming even purposed
with wind at night
EJR ©
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