these dreams weeded beetles
and the ice record cicadas
spun rapunzel's straw gold
in a circus of mice and raspberry tart
found by the fuzz at a carnival robbery.
you've wedded a paper heart in the passing
hands of my life's gas bubble. I trace
your gumption on beaded granulates,
rock salt hindu dots, DNA on sugar cubed
rorschach points, dawn anodynes of polka
and red bingo markers on the trick mirrors
my life has arranged. a trinity knot will wind
our knuckles in wishbones of white pearl
and fool's gold round the synapses' paeans,
a higher calling sticks to the ceiling
in smoked plume notes, smoking blood jewels
around the soft of your head. these dreams
weed beetles and beading minutes on dashes
in the morse of green sepia. the cancer skin of cows,
the elderberry moths spotted with rubber fido's
window watching leukemia. the paper hearts of my life
in a book of panels giallo red, you are one
(or the other) in this confessional phone booth
with brass rings the color of deja vu before
it flew akimbo as a plastic arrow
toward icarus wearing roller skates.
the pop rock gravel steams in roseate oil,
stained glass beverages and the thimble
microphones of holofoil behind parcels
greased in ink blots. what do you see?
sow my eyes shut with the Ripper's scapular
and the saints will float in catatonia's slop
bucket of planted hypnagogia pearls. finned
dispersion tips on a single crest point
in the dice cup of seltzer oceans painted
in Jacob's yellow star. a form gliding parallel
to the templates of yellow wallpaper where
hazel moons slides as eyes of olive
rosary beads beam and your heart is bent
in the ridges of a music box handle with shadow
spindles clockwork and the thumbprints
of cobalt bird wing's explosion in the crayola
marshes where deja vu has a pink mustache
and now all is accomplished in the right rib
of your porcelain spider glass socket eyes
looking toward me, myself and I, whoever he is.
Comments
texture poem
incision line is beetle
closure stitch word
glass eyes
Both are hard shiny
surfaces
..non reflective
most with beetle
first impression
are the black north american
variety
few will think of color
or the great horned beetle
but equally as black as onyx
and the glass eye for the
percent of its surface of
round is given to the white
but the iris is the focus
of associative thought..
and the Iris is Black!
word use throughout is
fine...exemplary word
Emeka similariarly
uses this word texture
for me its like speed
reading of which I do
or listening to the rap
of which I greatly
enjoy
forces most from their
comfort level
Many confess to being
Lost by this kind of
writing
and yet
this writing
is the beginning
in many regards
this form
to more then just
our primary
kindergarten
variety of writing
not knocking it
its just more complex
then the sing song
and like I always say
with poetry
If its show and tell
Dont stand up there
unless U got
something to Show!
Enjoyed this poem
very much
as all poets here..
key word is
"offering"
Thank U!
pupil is black
I meant too say..although some have very dark irises...
hello,
I very much enjoyed these lines:
your heart is bent
in the ridges of a music box handle with shadow
spindles clockwork and the thumbprints
of cobalt bird wing's explosion in the crayola
marshes where deja vu has a pink mustache
and now all is accomplished in the right rib
of your porcelain spider glass socket eyes
looking toward me, myself and I, whoever he is.
self-discovery is a good thing! excellent language usage!
always, Cat
Jackhammer heat, 130 degrees.
Jackhammer heat, 130 degrees...A hurricane of gifts you give !!!!
I more than read this eating every word over and over, genuflecting
The trojan horse is passed the mote, through the ramparts laying waste to the castle
your my cornucopia of cerebral rides, neurons hiccupping Your LSD mainline with a syringe;
plump vein ready to go, shattering me and loving it!
Z