poem 151 of a poem a day for 2012

ghost writing Geppetto at 4 am

bleeding the quiet is

what I do best

I just keep writing

close to the vest

sometimes I have to

marionette myself

to be the puppeteer

it's not that I am a ghost

it's just I enjoy

the harvest of quiet

cutting strings before Dawn

each word a body

splashed with painted eyes

doll parts that articulate

the movement of limbs reaching

for something that

might not be there in the rise

so I work pushing a thought here

or a thought there that might

resemble a nose for instance

or a pointed hat but with that

comes identifiability for standing pat

without much movement that might constitute

becoming a me, and when sometimes the night

is fed less coal and the Sun

knows the truth of those

like me, we are often cold and alone

we are often reaching for more

of something just out of sight

of something real in the light

EJR ©