about your towns of fuckeries
go fuck them too
plant a tree or two
and have the audacity
to sign your name
in blood somewhere
the light can burn iron
deep within the salt
of our eyes, fault lines
places where we thin
bone on soul
and cover the holes
where Love got in
all ewe minimalists twist my guts with glass
the past, loquations, locations and the greasy exits
set me on fire ... at the breakdown of your control mechanisms ...
it all becomes cell structure dependencies
and barter for what used to be free and from trees
science will become alchemical magic once again
as the slip noose orchestrated by our madness descends ...
we call the cattle to slaughter, not killed
by some vacuous wound hunger sense
of purposed humanity
but rather what of us can be
made into separate brains and bodies
the soul has to be
the last part
of our divinity
to be corraled
or all is naught
because
the body and brain
will die off
without
their nose
glandular glam glue
who knew sub atomic stole the show
so go forth and propagate or something sum thing
gladly, hands purge themselves of spirit
and are ready for the price
of wielded service
for these instruments
we are truly lacking
a sense of being
cut off
from the counsel
the soul
through the brain
says the illusion
of free will
leaves a lasting impression
that evenutally bleeds into false gods
wear ass whereas
I know
to choose
freely I might add
(what bit of quackery is me)
I wear a cap
and not much else
seeking your back deck
in the quiet, tiny slivers
of an imagined summer night
when winter wears me
all too well
the crickets always play the coda
did I not know
watching a rabbit
escape my dog
who never noticed
its spry shadow, glide
over snow cover lawn
scooting through
bones old tomato plants
under the fence
into a den while the sky
began to fall again
ice and snow
did I not know
that this moment
would wear me
a hush bunting home
did I not know
even the smallest
hope caught and held so
would be beautiful enough
to stop this poem
EJR ©
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