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Robert C Ellis Apr 2018
Impetus of the day:
What is weighted below the SAY
And the STEPs filling BREATH  
UNIVERSITY days and my death      
Then ear hairs they did sew
This nubile corpse for sleep
Shrove Tuesday and a hangover
My cadaver has a secretary
Robert C Ellis Apr 2018
Fire in the lungs of the universe
Is the gasp grasping the next
Breath and the math of existence
God, an empirical fraction of ***

The stranger is a fractal
A geometric figure of fate
Progressivelyrandom;chaotic phenomena
I only want to forget my name
Robert C Ellis Apr 2018
Jawbones shivved from the universe
Iroquois gypsum, the mother art
Puppy kisses my crusted hand
Devotion is the soul spread apart

Am I a monkey reciting emotion
Are the eyes our only trade
Dark, delving; mystery
We are all actor fillet
Robert C Ellis Apr 2018
The train bearing childhood
The weight bowing the tracks
Riddles spinning from the windows
Trees and trusses speeding past

Grandfathers and television
Clock radios and Christmas Day
The godsend of dawn in footed pajamas
Prayers are wishes and so I say
Robert C Ellis Apr 2018
From the red clay . From dusted afternoons
From silly giggling holding hands
The universe moves into

The sunshine, the star's mind
An aged memory
Recollections faint with rust
My fingertips just to reach

From moments warm with flesh
From breath I give for free
Night alights her as a crown
Amen ***, my God is thee
Robert C Ellis Apr 2018
Sunlight
Righting my horizon
The intellect of fashion gasping with Reaction
Outside a door I’ll never open
3,555 day incubation
Cement the locks
A stocked wine cellar in my imagination
Is burrowed into the earth, pardon the roots
(we believe animals have rights, too)
The mole, the rat and Chateau Malrome Cuvee
I fall into my mind until I cannot breathe
                                                                       (teehee)
Robert C Ellis Apr 2018
The ravaged ribcage,
That ghoul beneath the peeling stage,
Gravity-bent bone, harpsichord racks
We stack with swollen amber sacs
Of vibrato beats seething with the heat of friction
From my race through an historical fiction
(Of  forged tax collector receipts
And hospital records of symptoms and disease)
I crave release,
I stand on the rim of sleep
and dare myself to leap.  
                       To slip beneath the dream.
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