POETRY IN EMOTION

For the Joy of Shackle’s Dying Freedom

February bleeds into the Ides of March, black-stabbing loss

Dancing prancing power-drunk underlords armed Stomp sway nature’s iron cast broken backs bending reversals word stones bleeding camouflage plausible deniability sputtered words cast hollow shade.

You weren’t listening you never do so let me out sharp bones choking bandaged letters splatter-soak a damaged under-fed canvas straightened lines curve-collapse in birdsong harmony.

Sweating sweltering heat; iced tears of bitter cold gasping on gags of silent incrimination’s false detention passion’s ignition ripped, stripped, left bereft, electric impulses bash craggy cloud-soaked imaginary shores.

Dreams impaled on spikes; nightmares fed white truffles gulls pick the detritus of deception’s intent the judge’s gavel misses the mark but scrapes a hole muffles the slamming of a defiant busted-lock door.

You carved initials onto Canva dripping data reeking soiled impressions of yellowed cheap cologne black-slapping green checks your radicals omitted lost to your battered history month of sentences.

The Ides of March encroaching on your border’s poaching February’s bitter battles and imprisonment thwarted brown shirts grey boots blue hair red lips lip-synched hymns your beats escape the score thundering off the mountainside.

Erased, null value, chipped mirrored life’s elimination parsed innocence hemorrhages soul-stained swallowed screams promenades above the Dynamic Parade route’s parapets skinny unprompted, limp prisoner escapees’ Cheshire grinnings.

Charred backstabbing glancing glimpses; marvels in the shade branded exponential wounds yielding unsightly slices your arms, your chains, your lyrics embedded in my skin gaslit unfit for binding, your blinding escape from mortal coil.

Plaited love unwoven frozen fragmented stanzas remain memories refusing linear time whisper-sings Dylan’s ballads the target’s colors run frosted lime, click-clack in time, garlic scent each fragrant pain of yours lost to your raptured wonder, I pray.

Brief visits’ seismic roar-soul, erupting melodious shockwaves encores of fluttering violent Icarus wings disturb my fitful sleep burrowing deep, gathering the fluff of feathers adrift clearing the flightpath, renewed nourishment of Redwood leaf defiantly sturdy roots remain, dropped needles awaiting your return.

Come in, she said, I’ll give you Shelter from the storm.

Trying to eclipse the branded heart, a shadowy shunt took hold.

Unconstrained by the rules of one Medium, this creature devoid of form joined invisible rebellions lost amid the unmapped forests of others. Gathering rocks, feathers, and unidentifiable fleeting thoughts, I teetered but willed myself, “Don’t fall.”

Dylan’s shelter gave way as Stupendium’s Empire sought shelter from foreign storms. Uninitiated, this tourist hears the beckoning calls and raises her collected broken arms.

For the chips that illuminate darkness— the musician, mountain climber, political prisoner, slain student, protester, myself, and you.

Rodney Crowell & Emmylou Harris cover Bob Dylan’s (original version from Blood on the Tracks) Shelter From the Storm.

Copyright © Patricia Jeanne as Lizzie Lizard Brain 2024

And because mass shootings have become commonplace,