January 20, 2012

poem 21 of a poem a day for 2012 (early again folks)

pick-pocketing my heart's words with the bent potential angels

finger tips like lips waiting
to poach desire from passers by
the cacaphony and dins
of the head bowed crowd
shuffling along the sidewalks
in the city loud
or bubble-wrapped
in the confines
of each of my nature's prides
is it snowing yet,I hear we might get...
let's go here,I hear that they have great...
trailing off,my mind locks
on another pile of accordian sounding
cell-phones,peeing on my brain again
a pencil feels the best
in the chest or at least written
from that perspective
but I can't run the streets
with sharp # 2's
and pay the bills
with the thrills
I whet night with

finding skin
as thin
as paper
like white
lace waiting
to be untied
inside the black vowels.
and grinds of each
of my rhythms
inside each of my
running waters
like the sink
that I left on
when I got up
to get a drink

sounding open
the blinds again
keep telling me
not to forget
how I bend
the rain
keep telling me
not to forget
how thirsty
I am
the glass

EJR (c)

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