as Summer approaches, anti christs abound apoplectic

we found we couldn't close the doors or windows 
beasts, burdens and caravans 
of folks kept coming for shelter 
we kept the greeting room cool 
from the unrelenting Sun of june 
by draping blankets and sheets over some wire we nailed 
to the top of the frame 
no one expected the gypsies to be so tied 
to the monarch butterflies 
or the swallows of San Juan Capistrano 
we only knew 
feed and folly 
in that order 
we were the respite havens 
the depots of deposition 
before postion is affixed 
in the afterlife 
those moments 
a person has throughout their life 
where they wear what if as a badge 
merited or knot gordian damocles 
the pleased parts of a soul 
says to Life let me ride 
while the squirreled away says 
open the windows 
it might rain 

poets paint 
points parsed 
piecing pillboxes 
from the decimated 
the digits 
of the two hands 
are in concert 
the unseen ones 
are the muckrakers 
and multiple personali-tied angels 
the taut congealed faces 
what erases 
from memory 
any pain endured 
while walking bones ...

we listen to the string masters 
play melodies they've learned from the wind 
and we tell stories gathered around fires at night 
throwing silhouettes 
onto walls into unforgettable tales 
of ribald and serenity ...

we once were a pie-oh-near land 
and sonia sanchez-es ran with lances 
truth in their bent fingers 
crooked to the sounds 
of why we still strive and thrive 
under the weight of being human 
here where upside 
is only marketable content 
and intention 
can be meted mentioned 
only after the trespass 
of spiritual content 

we were what stolen from left us feeling 

Prometheus and Antigone 
had many children that we took in 
little saviors 
in the silly things 
we did to stave off death sometimes 

that godliness is a lie 
is no surprise 
nor that clark kent 
is a stooge 
and being super 
is the preference 
for most individual fantasies 
writhing in the mass 
of worms known as modernity 

we hanged those blankets 
most every morning in June 
wishing on morning coffee 
that Love would return to Life 
some of us knew better 
and knitted sweaters for those growing 
weary of peering into a future 
so dampened of possible 

this ritual we clung to 
hope before shallow breaths, 
graves

EJR ©