Jason Davis
Nov 1 · 2 min read

Dreams-scenes

Rasputin come loose,

Saunter abound-abound.

Sheltered in prophesies,

Dark taverns, dens, towns.

Ground high and cowhand shoes.

Suckling the moment

The mass in mere movement.

The slimmest move.

Moisture breath and the in between.

Hearing wood flutes,

Risen from ghostly wind.

Sometime, somehow, the begin.

Warm bodies are immutable hosts.

Bone, tongue, forever now.

Rumblings of cloaks and ghostly ghosts.

How?

Prophecies?

Reprieve patterns;

Tossing tea leaves,

Nor examine the swift

Heft of hexagrams.

Bathe the babe,

The ‘I’ in ‘I am’.

Stared and swallowed

With weathervane eyes.

Awed by dirt, breeze and sky.

Slam or step though dry doors.

Sight blind or evermore.

Abandoned the seekers search,

Or roam?

At very least

Bring a tepid dinner home.

Seers see.

I, lay with wet in rain.

Bulldozed-brackish-brain.

Drug down the slide

In sidewalk drains.

Split half,

Sprouted sane/insane.

The curious of counterparts.

Rasputin and tender flesh,

Akin, stitched and meshed.

Afar and again.

Saints and costumed sin.

Bottle rockets and

Gun powdered shots; skin.

We are all guilt condemned.

Body and spirit, tailors well within.

Sunlight leans weighted

At very last and least,

Fated.

The angel/animal appear again.

Sleep the black, then wake.

Now, the present/past,

The fuse of dawn,

The breath take,

The lit at last.

Survival for

The sake of ‘sake’?

The light?

The dinner bell ring?

Arduous all again…

In such fleeting fight.

Two feet, what I’ve got to begin.

Taverns and dens

Memories and sins;

Still, whisper tenderly in.

Stone flat yet,

I want risen.

Bullet shot or not.

Life is nothing got.

Not with a noose,

Be it cinched or loose.

Foxholes;

What I’m

Squattin’ in.

Jason Davis

Written by

Expanse. Awareness. A good dog. Oxygen.