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 24, 2017
La futura poesia di Eden
the ceremony begins
tapping staves
clicking
deepening
taut animal skin sounds
palms down we were left
to our quiet devise-mints
we were sounds
we were what nature
refused to make
a shining example of ...
we were found festering afoot
branded by the trees
with passing fleet remarks
root cause ago slicken-ed spitball sent
these wounds stuck with you,
hardwood horse collar
germ and project tile subtle
until eventually they became
part of the body simple
you don't realize a design's perfection often until
death begins to haunt generation
after generation of thoughts
like children bled
away into quiet adulthood
pied piper-ed
we are wanting
to embrace right now
cow sacred to plant derived
hive minded grace
are we the virus the hybridized
do we realize
in time
to emit
we must sit
with ourselves
as part of something
greater than our most fantastic alone
the briar patch
was 3D printed
from recycled computer parts
pools of mercury
formed these pretty
to look at stay far away from lakes
we imagined forests
we imagined farms
we imagined rivers
we imagined oceans
we imagined animals
we imagined weather
and seasons and reasons
why, why stays with
a seeking soul
red pill rabbit hole
we owe explanations
the self
the poem
a good heart
and its home
EJR ©
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