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Sun on 19

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.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 

Comments

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!

I meant too say..although some have very dark irises...

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

When you fling poo, some of the stink sticks to you!

"The Book of Styx" can be ordered and purchased on line at:
http://eddystyx.mythramuse.com/

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

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