Rods and Cones

by Eric Dodson

Pros and cons, rods and cones, 
prone coddles swaddled broadly 
as inert gasps spray diverted river flow upload,
back up into outflow load for firm probe interior dialogue,
set and setting, 
sifted wet and thus unsettled,
deftly nestled in the precipice of
average avarice,
sent lisping away, hind legs splinted,
hindering the antidote for 
sold constitution assuage.

Formats negotiate their farewell tours
along previously deposited trail residue
from retraced multitudes.  
Open lip sounds belie unbroken obelisk,
shifting clouds gathered and lilting in upward phase,
betraying the unknown lack of non-existence.

Story line petered out with limbs of traversal
waking their elders on the brink of yet another
touch simmering.
Birds flying sideways bring alive
whippersnapper and flittery improvisation
as the parking lot chorus watches
from the pit, eagerly anticipating
a series of stunts and gropes toward
perfectly balanced 
gasp / hold / exhale,
in colors falling shard-like from accumulations
of plausible deniability.
Seeds in fertile pavement bring springtime groan
even that much closer,
with wind voices yelping portents of 
all the things.

Symbols pause and stutter-step 
to let breathe the choreography of their digestion.
Meanwhile, the now becomes the just past now, 
the now past, the now
long gone,
every word attempting to catch up to the last
as it all slips away forever, 
as the past laps up on the lips of the future teller
of now
in quaint frames of fleeting bird-brain.

Ropes and pulleys buttress kite string-hold
on the half-life of words and thoughts
disappearing in cold splotches
across a hot windshield.
Reaching inside the glove box, and under
the seat, and up under the bumper 
for the button or lever that equalizes
the pressure inside and out,
affirming and negating the hologram of
placid mirror moment
within moment 
of this next now.

Categories: Poetry