‘behind wisdom lies wild women in the woods: Eurus O Iris is her name’ by Edward Rinaldi

in a future madly sewn 
whirring whirling whorls bones
parts flung so fast
stuck in mode
a node
soul could not
take hold of quite yet
temple threshold

future already been
come so brightly lit
turn a slow death
reason and spirit
Love, the course
triumphed here as
milk bars like Burgess said
oranges and clockworks
ran amok instead
siam iam thrice slid
three dimensions hid
no mention how
all gates are free
clear to feel
meant shuns
bent into slums
for you to take
as if you
deserved the real
hooked mouth
too

bread
beans
dishes
fishes
ellipses
elliptical fields
resonated portal gains
wet hands
clasped maids 
the wheel
each soul born whole
only complete
fête du Têt when two
twined eons knew
to find bind rite tines
the tethers
on sills
one blood
to pool
fills

there was this story of old
this story told
of the vizier
helping all to others
though became clear
how convenient a lever
against each other
he could be so pressed
and it wasn’t until
he wasn’t a guest
and finally fell from
high wear thought
appearing seamed
fond of being lost

he came upon
a wilderness
so vast he felt
any thing
was possible
inside its seasons
its bone cages
heart beats and breath
he only
had to think it real
he began to notice
things fell to
to where he dared
to smile alone

the animals and insects 
the birds
messaged him
pop to poop art song
happy is the soul
knowing hold a light
be loved
inside any size reveal

his old friends
would call
on occasion
relatives too
remark at how heartened
they were seeing into
what they thought
be a dimmest of places
the erases racing way 
what thought they
could he be
other than
our pin pain
an escape artist
they did say
though now upon place
a hearth and stone
they feel him not care a tone
and carried away with them
a glow they had not had
when curiosity
got the better
of their absence too

he had gone 
in the woods
along a stream
an oxbow
of land
a Longfellow stands 
where a grand white birch
stood a sword
in silt and sediment
washed in moonlight
beneath it
a sea of canary grass
waved rusted fobs
a milliard skinny quail
that seemed to agree
when he laughed
aloud under the smell of trees

he had heard laughter once
ago, stirred him
to find where it came
every time the calendar came
so, on auspicious nights
he’d cast eyes closed
to scent a soul
where the laughter wore
wholly holly and oak inside him

he didn’t expect
to ever feel to find such
he mostly went for the ritual
of joy and discovery
of letting go
and recovery
sensing being loved
each time he would
carry lantern
to womb
and pray
his stained June

there were two October moons
and host eve
said heed traipse
ye blind ways
I said I’ll wear mushrooms
pretend i am already dead

he went to his usual place
moss covered boughs
where creeks side
ash trees fused a seat
he threw away
his last bag of tricks
prayed the cold water
on his feet

he always thought he “heard” the laughter
smiling a feign as if he didn’t have to
for reason here is why worn surrender
is a never ender
so on and so on
A-Z alpha omega
arrested development
blessed best bee
when eyes close
to flower’s scent 

he heard a twig snap
a paper prattle leaf
crisp the silence
above the babble
he smiled and prayed a more
soon realized the scent
he was caught in
bitten with

when a thought
stops you
breathless
anticipation
you are cresting
a wave your body rings
attuned blood bound things

he felt
at the ears
something
of a musical lick
they bee not
radio poems
he flares his nose
what say you
he says aloud
i am caught
a fly now
in thy web
a she goat
says she and aye
do, know thy
name too

what madness is this
he thought eyes still closed
what music knows me as this
he opened his eyes
and felt a sucking wind
but no form did he see

Zephyrus faint pleas 
toes stretched out
dug muddy moonlight
wish paring here there
Zephyrus in trees
bow finger ribbons
rays, poems, night
whispering heirs
Zephyrus what are thee 

right then Eurus
laughs in a voice that made the dew
pay attention too

“you can call me O Iris
or just Iris my dearest
vizier of solitude
and despair
I dared the East too
to throw you clean coins
and fountain
chance a knew you
could be loved
I did
I do

if only you grew
to believe
believe
you did
you did
the two 

why wait for the light
at the end of a tunnel
when you can wear
your glow right here
in a dark
you once thought
was meant
only for you…”

and into the wilds he roamed
a vizier alive
now and home
a filled rain
under Moon undone
She began
to wash his feet
and soul
something
he had
forgotten
as well too
do

The consummate lay poet (entendre alert), Edward Rinaldi was born in 1967, just smart enough to find humor being the fool. A parishioner of the restaurant industry, he has grown into a nifty slinger of phrase-ology in this attention span diminished brave new world of ours. Follow him on Twitter @blindedbeatpoet


Image: “Katy Perry” by Jonathan Silverman

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