April 2, 2012

poem 115 of a poem a day for 2012 (NaPoWriMo3)

what the rain couldn't hear was

time is
a mistress
of more
riddling the wind
with her tongues
on our clocks
our dark begins
our peel scraped ends
our molecules thinned 
enough to birth light in
each element of us
in all the space
that electrons ain't
though perspective
and the truth
of painting horizons
is as it always is
an observable
set of accordion
and the truth is
that every rendition
is a thirst
is a crawl down
to bare essential
in a plea
for more time


1 comment:

  1. I was reading in Michael Benedikt's classic anthology, "The Poetry of Surrealism" his introduction to Robert Desnos & found this passage, "... in 1936, in an experiment recalling his [Desnos'] earlier automatic writing, he undertook to write one poem a day for an entire year."

    You are swimming through the ink stains of the pens of your fathers.