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| she makes cups I always drink well in her company |
the sic need to bleed into each other's mouths
lone solemnity turned to lonely vows with the rain
I press myself into a poem
through windows
when it is raining
wishing on the passing cars
each one another moment
stolen
to throw
skipping time
a stone
you rode
me to rhyme
whispering
write rite right
Edward
what did I
bury with rusty nails too
pieces of eight
I found in
old shoe boxes and
beneath scattered papers
thickly matted with dust
and when there were
those old row houses
long abandoned
I played inside them
pretending one day
I'd live and write
right there
with you
roses planted
outside windows
a whole holed idea
is where your ideals
were wear wheels
imaginatively turned to you
to unwrap any precious treasures
or old views placed inside
one of papa's old cigar boxes
buried as well
in the many places
memory races with
saying little missives
daring prayers
all to one's self
that they may find
that one future
of a found her
clay covered hands
wipe away
streak cheeks
Motown on
an old record player
in the corner
on a card table
candles and the
preposition her
I did
inside the slide
of hope
this bottle of wine
could undo her
as these artful
art filled
thoughts of her
have always undone me ...
EJR ©
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