hemingway was our scullery maid
when wanting to be bowsprit
we both write in the daylight
we scream it against what augers our souls
holes where rain gets in
our tear Suns, our skins
our bone kites and cages
our sage burning
holes where rain gets in
our tear Suns, our skins
our bone kites and cages
our sage burning
we desperately
cling to soul glow
lantern human on a coach
some wear our mercantile past
a mere few thousand years ago
when we first entertained a
shared hope, hoping we would
live long enough
to write woven into life, love
a poem
sewn on hoe down
broken soil clown face
pancakes and white corn
fear hides the angry oceans
quiet places pile up unfelt
places behind blank canvas
places we fall to
places we fall to
when we give up
silent screams, exhaustion
so we don't give up and instead
silent screams, exhaustion
so we don't give up and instead
we feed ourselves inside song
scent trial recipients
what forgetting gives
each breath
deceptions lie easily
sugar swallowed whys
is it wise to bite the hand that feeds the land
eating the sate saint poison portal gains
does it fatten us up on shallow pools
maybe wisdom
isn't a kingdom
without chaos
after all
scent trial recipients
what forgetting gives
each breath
deceptions lie easily
sugar swallowed whys
is it wise to bite the hand that feeds the land
eating the sate saint poison portal gains
does it fatten us up on shallow pools
maybe wisdom
isn't a kingdom
without chaos
after all
i am a fool
the fool near you
the fool falling in love
the fool with every one
the fool eve licker
the fool in eye, nose knows
the fool of every me ever of every you
we are children of antigone and prometheus
the nearness of stardust, the almost, the blinks, the nods
the table legs, the crawls home, the things we put on the mantle
the wishes we make when no one is looking
the outside every life we have led, looked into
the kneading of cutting time, the hull dove beneath time
time hugs the coastline of consciousness
time is never far from
how possible tongues
whole realms
time is our bodies
our breaths
our silhouettes
our cities
our rumpled clothes
at the foot of our bed
time is places words fell to
time is a scent waiting
for us to remember again
how we crawl in the Spring
how we twine bramble when Summer
how we bleed out things we never were when Autumn rings
how we are born, the turn towards morning
when Winter
time
EJR ©
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