March 31, 2012

poem 111 of a poem a day for 2012


walking shoes

I have
soles with holes
scraped leather  
bottoms of my life
that look for pasture
in the foal suckles
of dust
and Sun
that falls when
I ride
with clouds
and forsake
a world full
of love
I act surprised
that I had forgotten
my pocket tucks
are always found 
in poems  
as eyes

I used to see
dead people in love
all the time
I used to get high
on their contrails
Antigone myself with
their destinations
cauterize their vision
with the faces of my  
torch-bearing  
for more of what
cuts me to the quick
with thick smoke
and the sound of skin
cracking open

animalcules
of humanity are
wading emotion
agglutinating in the clay
in the wet slipstream of
the yellowed turned up smiles
of old photographs
that every memory  
says is worth savoring
like the street corner
tramples
and every gold rush
to the land of somewhere else
that becomes
someone else’s piece
of the sky out the window
we never knew
what fences grew
before the veni, vidi ,vici
virus of humanity
began to empty
desire from our molecules

America
out there in decline
reclines beneath the sirens
beneath the seas rage
inside the wind
lining the sky
with poured dreams of
build and flood the seams
the levees will break
when the wild grasses
begin to root shake
all the concrete
in the stone tides
in the origin of
wrong turns
and the ways
we go back to
to learn how
to walk forward again
to burn our faith 
to ash again
more completely sewn in
like the cakes
and ales for the elves  
who build shiny
new shoes and
place them neatly
on the shelves of a
somewhere else
stored to know
a bright blind 
way home

and we might 
even wear them 
just to forget
that the feel 
of the Earth
the feel 
of each step
beneath us 
gets in
these holes 
in our soles
in our sins

EJR ©

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