Hippolytus

A Poem by h d e rushin

And i'm thinking that perhaps life is nothing more/or less than a friend request

or a riverfront since both you wait beside to drown out the sandpipers and

my lover, who's hair recedes in gram equivalents; solutions you might ask?

Of why 49 rings in the high heavens more than 50 or why carrying a child

low or your groceries high up the sweater-less arm so the plastic can be a sort of

caress like the petals offered to me for hypertension or sympathy cards, a type of

orthodoxy. I am still of the psychosexual development stage worshiping my sex

like a foot as the trees outside in the wind blown September starts, then slows down,

then starts again to drop their leaves as if their worship of summer (not mine) has waned.

There are no beginnings like those of truth or theory, I've been told, yet I've never carved a

heart into the bark of a elm and no matter what you say, all the spinney things of

this earth hurt to rub against. But still I wait for the accidental love song to

cascade from beyond the heavens: in a church house full of old women but one.

In the Walmart parking lot with a dog trapped in a hot car and me,

the cotton plucked from the stomach, the back of the neck of the voodoo doll.

Later, the interested Thor with dark roots swings a hammer wildly until

the damsel is slain (in love of course silly) falling into my arms, while the exasperated dog

and daylight peeks deep into us and we are struck down by the thunderbolt

of Zeus, gone stark raving mad.

© 2018 h d e rushin

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Reviews

Gee

Man, all this does is confirm how thick I am. I read, think, read, think, even Google and think and still the am none the the wiser. So, I read others of yours, and again failed miserably. So instead of smart arse comments on ancient Romans and " stuff " yep " stuff" is about my limits I wallow in self pity for talking instead of listening during 12 years of schooling :(((((
Right, where's the pointy black hat with the big white " D" scrawled on the front.....