April 11, 2011

Napowrimo 11

inside another Humpty Dumpty


It's as if the Moon too
can color the insides of blue
eyelids squeezing midnight of fun, spun wet with words
spilt between
split fingers
lingering when crawling
into what the nose sees
what wraps around dreams
flowers from bow rakes
bent back and bulbs
with all the blind eyes
rounding sounds to make sense
of the turn and feel
like an old record 
squeezed lumped 
with the bumps
and other curves
gravity feeds time with,
sews all the shapes
skin makes
when it peels
and takes
all the tiny teeth
constant birth bequeathed
can softly sink
into the black
soil beneath
what burns
palmed handles
onto memory 
sometimes fusing 
the fall
along the wall,
humptying and dumptying
each seeded reach and all
the Sun and water breech
prayer, in their gathered temples with,
mud flows and the
damned erratic throws 
stones rolled slow,
cheating clocks
with long looks
to measure what hooks,
emits the crooked spit
of a winter honeysucle berry
coming full circle
bled quietly brown lawned
one those houses made of dawn
waiting in the reeds
with windows opened
for my bones and covers
and flesh still in weave,
in the waves  sown
fabric bright blindly behaved
behind curtains I deceive
myself chasing
with my back
to a beauty I have
never grown
only picked up
fingered grubbed
supped and known
along the way
as chance,
a dance with which
I have always
poured myself
home

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