poem 97 of a poem a day for 2012

waiting for my bones to dry

sitting here again 

at the empty corner of the sofa

dancing in the shifted sands of

stop and go coffin wheels

lights and lines and soft fabric feel

at the crawl of the shoreline

to each of our fingered ends

hurry and scurry

the poem bends here

says look at me dear

how clear the Sun spills light

in the morning after 

night has paid with dew 

misty unseen jungles of our lives

drooling the dueling dollars for ripe avocados

and a heart's bravado in the loosened moorings

from the church of stained glass emotions

and every face I make 

is just another

in the ant oceans 

of glossy 8x10's

handed out again

and again with hope

on a rope hung out to dry

milk and honey trimmed fingernails

the manicured personality of disorder

the entirety of my mind is bright wall painted squalor

bow and arrows crept in concrete steps

to the salvation by bus

pigeons flocking just like the rest of us

with the rose color in your glasses,Edward

and the gone fishing sign hung where

anyone can read it by the smell

of your disregard alone

failed writer written on my forehead

each crime I commit against my soul 

doesn't wait for the movie to end

and instead the bled bread of get ahead

is breaking my balls every time as

I knead them in a risen cup of courage

the world can't get faster, can it

as my unravel is the tide-gavel of the sea

coming to reclaim my limbs as fins again 

the same price for middle of the road for me

is the same price as going through the motions

for infinity to stay in the thick of things

drinking the bottled innocence of others

in thirsty gulps of take me away

even if for a second a thought could fly

the speed of light unchained

by the frailty of human desire

is just a rape of pleasure

in order to keep up with the joneses

and the wind mills grinding load stones

in the modest proposal factories

that spew the thick smoke

of everything else

that burns

the way I do

pockets full of posies

ringing around the rose see

the dead can dance too

wear a suit and tie

and wide smile

as I sometimes do

without thinking

or committing myself

to something other 

than broken bones

and waiting for the blue to dry

EJR (c)