poem 39 of a poem a day for 2012

closed mouth telegraphing my zoo-wander on the rail

silent isn't ought to be
if we chronicle every time
we've had to eat someone
to get ourselves renewed
and free

where we can stare holes
into all of the sands
and wet-drive loams
into the muddy blood of
dug-in foothold tomes

where the will of
our wants can
wear us completely
from the ground
to a cup-handing
buddha huddle
crowding the
burn barrels

and everyone in
the soup
to sinner lines
has become
part of our poems

and what of
the thin fins we're
finding in fined climbs
to arms then wings
do we need to know
that our every sadness has
come here to watch
come here to glow
in our soft shuffled
stepped shoes

are the flight patterns of
our strewn melodies
just our chances we've taken
with every one of their renditions
hurled against the star-dusted flesh
we've threshed soul after soul upon
what have our spirits become
in a cage-show churned best
chasing every electric fenced rabbit
as I do

and what, we
in our madnesses
are painted to
in permanent gloam
to watch where
we too draw
the what in our eyes
that fades to black
every time we
amble towards
a home

I shake ill
at my open hinges
and rattle clear
the thought
of roars
that nobody
hears

a do not feed sign
hangs, large enough
so that no one
comes near me
as iron
and coal
are still alive
with legs enough
to keep up
with all my
desire to fall
forward


EJR (c)