The River

[CRNDLSM]

So, I picture a man sitting by the river watching all this flow by.  is this part of the lake that caught fire 60s 70s?  first,  I like the symmetry of 2 short stanzas, then the long, then 2 more.  I wrote it all out to try and put myself there.

They are inside the water - molocules of memory; 'they are' seems to be how you start getting your mind rolling, not helpful to the piece but maybe personal characteristic flair, although, 'they are' also reminds me of a horror film.
horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle – squirrel bones,
the sludge of a delving tide.

No one can tell what is missing,this is my favorite stanza, seems to actually say the most about the lIst of losts that flow later
what iis still surfacing, what has become
lathered into womb-bearing suds. Also womb bearing is good all the procreation references later.

A wake nibbles the passing,
heaps up headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy and rum; these items listed I feel could be pasted anywhere within the poem.  
the painted missing parts
of the once and will be.

A momentous loss drifts by -
is found by stooping gulls;
mute tales are diced into mist.
Amid the tremble of reeds,
late summer copulates
with eddy, churn and jism.
Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky.
There are rusting bloomswhat is a rusting bloom.  just treating rust growth as a flower? 
between spent shot shells.
Condoms colonize cattails.
The river slops together
wind-plowed concoctions -
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned.Id hyphen long-abandoned
Even though this stanza has items almost listed, the movement of it describes the actual river the best.  this stanza could almost stand alone as a poem.

The Ohio dredges itself,
sifts moments in fish-guts of time.
There are long trod dreads,I like 'long trod dreads', because I think 'treading trodden trails'
sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies.
Unseen acts that still beat
against eroding banks.

The backwash seeps as moon-spill,
or drives a John Deere
deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push
each muddy footprint like objects lost in the river are footprints in time. but it all comes off as trash anyway.
toward an empty shoe.

The beauty in describing the horrors here has an effective impact on my need to clean.
I'm sure this poem could be twice as long with original disgusting descriptions, or you could cut half and probly have the same impact.  it is what it is.