it is early morning and the contents of this cup waits for me
©2017 Stuart Dummit
Monthly Archives: April 2017
A Roque of Ixpremiads
Lode, the waining trembles of sentient orthonauts fly! What dreamy and miasmic turnbulls wait in the gnarly wings? One treads not on such dainty, delicate tomes. The festooned reliquaries grumble and hum with unsanitary expectations. One does not suffer such imbrications lightly.
– Stout heart! Fondle knot the tender eggs of men! Your unfiled nails might scratch and tear and summon sanguine leakage upon your hands and the earth between your feet!
Crimson fluids gush from fresh rent flesh and congeal into wrens and rooks and other winged beasties. Clear water, fecund with womanish stuffs wash away the evidence, but the roque remains. Do not fear the ixpremiad, but embrace it. Make it your own. Color it in scents of pastures and loose-clothed mornings like the marmalade of the Sun, sweet up front and bitter at the back.
– Centurion! Do you heed the warnings of your sister’s mother? What works for her falls flat for you. Sitting in static at the foot of your birthing bed, Time’s gondola and gambit conspire to dongle to the status quo. Such translations rarely do justice to the anticipation and afterscent of desire’s placenta.
©2017 Stuart Dummit
in those days they crafted lamps from salt
A savory light is often more useful than a sweet or sour illumination.
©2017 Stuart Dummit
concerning bread and marmalade
March 2017, Sacramento, CA
With my friend, David Lindsey. Pressed into memory – I will endeavor to keep it alive.
©2017 Stuart Dummit
considering a distant gate
from this great distance can you see the firestorm?
can you hear the shrilling cries, the rubble muffled moans
the pounding of the righteous fist?
does it matter from this far away place?
©2017 Stuart Dummit
on this poem
Either close, small, intimate perceptions,
Or broad, expansive, and massive realizations,
Well chosen tones strung like stones
Are my poem’s cairn.
©2017 Stuart Dummit
Stuart Dummit 