when you became my every woman, every Alice ... #NaPoWriMo2018 Day17

A bend in the Poestenkill

somewhere jazz is playing : 

a poem is born 

it got thinking 
about me, wide 
angle lens 
rite riots writing, 
pen in old comp books 
dos, doe(s) and done up ends 
moments suspend gone 
gun gallop tenned 
ounce 2 gallon 
sold more 
corner boring 
into a tomorrow 
that came to wear 
all your looks 
especially hooks 
not taken off 
hope fed holes 
a-rabbit ... 

getting some 
dim tum eat me 
your rabbit hole 
your munition volition 
sentry motion 
ignition wanting 
I've left your guidance 
too many times 
with breathless poems 
waiting to say your name 
in some dark quiet, hoping 
for a before our song plays 
to know my name 
on the wind 
between seasons 
between sins ... 

we gifted drifted grafted skin after skin over bones 
chained soul to soul low hosts 
spirit vestige stones 
by creeksides 
the poestenkill 
hag and lory 
glory and atone 
an ent ward drawn 
forested path meandering mendacity 
cell fathers, simple numbers, nine pins 
child den we wed possible to now give me a who 
here where wearing the story 
is the LSD lore of a bicycle day 
we wore, whys rocking chair 
laundry room basement 
with a window 
to the East 
an old widow 
wise and guile-d 
smiled, a smell of rain 
in bend and mended repeat 
wet clay again wombs 
prefacing what unveils 
as Beltane nears 
I hear decades 
gone and went 
unfurling  ...

a camera toting daughter 
notebook frenzied eyes 
no fingers will ever be fast enough for her 
people skill fisted  
set saw sea see totter 
eye a gain titter tooter tool 
"we'll be riding six white houses ..." 

beneath the mossy eager forest floor ...

edgar and the telling tales : 

how this part drives the finish 

beating beat be bop pop sound whistle to whisper 
heard myself wanting to be worn as wear where thin is wind 
keeping a time fined to finding bindings untying me 
under hill undone even oddly spun by my unctuous till row deep tine poems 
until until and until 
breathless 
and kissing you 
until until and until 
breathlessly 
kissed by you 
holding  
me, my light 
all night long 

so my dear 
ruby in the pocket groove 
hearth and heart to prove 
I really can't remember 
how many times I have 
fallen in Love with you ... 

there are these expressionless moments 
that hold me, stilled to your scent ... 

sometimes it is an almost complete 
while others it is a pure singularity 
of consciousness, tided tithed teat  ... 

poets hold glow it notes, words that guide us 
mothers may eyes 
and those supple 
little roots 
that find us 
wanting more 
of these 
little cakes 
and teas 
after words 
afterwards 
every day 
until we die ...

EJR ©