Friday, November 20, 2015

A Viking Wrinkles

A Viking wrinkles
In black boots and steepness
Is implicit in the stitches
Of a woman squeezing a sponge
I like butter it’s true it improves
Everything especially scrambled eggs
Gaudy as the misunderstanding
Of coffee. When did you ever
Completely understand this beverage?
Tea has a delicacy that doesn’t fit
The rage of the morning and its awkwardness
Rubbing against the hair of the leg
With all the muscle it can muster
I’m throwing an idea at you let me know
When it arrives. I’m learning how to feel
My arms as I hold a stack of books
We answer the call of our skin this way
Circle ourselves with the colors
Of consciousness and take care of the personality
In its interactions with the world. My forehead
Glitters with violins when the wind blows through it
Poetry is the mushroom growing beside the rock
Is this the right spoon for this emotion? Or should I use
A knife? Dive into books. Slither through the words
They mean what you want them to mean, so work them
Into agglutination. This is what ganglions are for
We initiate ourselves in cocoons, enter them as
Ideas and come out as airplanes. Don’t sneer
At ears. I tell this to all my friends
I seek depth in understanding. And drink coffee
In the light of my anarchy. I want to be social
But when I’m in conference with a ghost
I just want to dawdle at the table until the waitress
Brings me more coffee. Honey it’s the same
As the spaces between the bars that keep
The tiger caged and the words are splendid
When the nerves release them

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