March 28, 2012

poem 105 of a poem a day for 2012

the pain of what lights pleasure

I cinch the clack
pierce of time’s wheel
to a tighter spill
racking my flesh
farther away
from myself
my bones
can already separate
from what my soul
needs of them
to leave footprints
in the wet clay
of a woman’s heart

it is always best
that every scent
humanity blesses
the Earth with
closes our chests
of open wounds

like the bullet
speed of Love
when a heart
like mine
pours shot after shot
in the needy jangle
of empty cups

I turn keys and
tumble through
corner begs
to dance with
skeletons in the rain
picking over my remains

the landscape
the incisions
of ghosts
that can’t
be ignored

I can’t move
without eating
my heart
out of stone
every time
squeezing the air
from me to
a completely still
enough to write
what I smell

Pandora and
smudge-pot the way
and hold the words
open like doors
and seeded wings
in the wax bleed
of another poem
hope brings home


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