March 22, 2012

poem 91 of a poem a day for 2012

where's the lost song of St Anthony

can you 
find it here
spilling between 
the chewed howls
of what's unseen
or perhaps it sings
in the pieces of
Promethean liver
that crows beak
when they clean 
the night of what 
horned roams
find outside 
the grotto

the combed flesh
that feeds Spring
in unfurls here
slow captures 
what the Sun
vines the magic
of each undone
with. though not
without payment
to each other side
a cow or a lamb
or some beans
or some coins
that a pocket 
hides with loins
that know how 
to whistle past
the cemeteries 
that we birth
for every ride
home again

EJR (c)

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