May 2, 2012

poem 147 of a poem a day for 2012




vining my elemental Frankenstein



my stark bones are scatter carves in the wind
as I wait for the toes of spawn to begin, digging in
running in the madness of leaves that reach for Sun
weaving a mimicry of tidal bleeds in my humanity undone
in its flicker spread paraded decay, the turnstile decomposed
this is my nesting, rot to root, slow curl suckling is best reposed
this is when stealing light from the safety of the dark can happen
where blood is mapped, stars wide-leg the sky and my soul is a-rapping


find the keys to my cage


no, weather cannot be trusted
as a prognostication
only as a divination
though whether or not
I choose to see the rain
or open mouth and drink
the washed pain of less trees
more heat, the Earth with an open sore humanity
is staked to burning in this beat
this crumble city permanence
this is where I listen for the Goddess
the eternal Mother, Sister, and Lover
coming in tri-fecta perfection
this nubile to crone wisdom alone
is an idea that is sexy enough for me
to fashion umbrellas from bones
so, no the weather may never be trusted
other than as a gamble-net-cast to stir the written words
though free-will, if you surrender here, time cannot find you


choose my electricity, rust my soul


my strive for more, my drive patterns in the loam
my mechanical crawls, sniff out words for the poem
as if the poem alone will shield hollow memory from smells
corpses all dressed in Sunday best, are robotic william tells
for my targeted pens, herding cliff seekers, each to an ending
where the door is a jar and an open one at that, bending
a fence of stolen fire, to get thrown through windows as a lucid angel's art
foundry-trance pounded, foraged, shaping each of my brittle skins, a start


EJR ©

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