poem 82 of a poem a day for 2012

drink me,again

open the boot
bottle the loot
the pain is soot
burst coughing through
the interlude
don't worry
don't hurry
I hear the train conductor say
pressing shadow to glass
with top hat and cane to pass
every narrow clickety clack
is the tide weight of prophecy
that dreams load bear for
and are the thin wide hungers
that devour whole worlds

dark womb dancing
a raw pollen coated land
before enhancing
before blooming green again
we are crawled hand
and a whistle again
redlights too my friends
the forks and switches
are best given to witches
because they know how much
for the dog in the window
when the window knows
the dog is me or you

(  mi sono e per e follia lupo )

and I and the wolf and
the certainty of madness
that is in every neon cackle
that reflects to wear
a spackle-mortar lay of bricks
in the mist that night leaves
like candles for day
to blow out at dawn

we all break vision to wish
for what has rusted to tide free
and flow with every part
we have vined
to that divine geometry
and those organic attractions
of our alchemical fires
that ends up in
all the rain that clouds
any kind of to be
that billows a blurred vision
as we listen for soul
in the bellowing of wind
and the things that
we keep carrying

half of us are stilling
towards action
and the other half of us
are acting to be still
so there in all
the somewheres
inside our minds
we know some of us
will always wait
before we're filled


EJR (c)