May 13, 2012

poem 156 of a poem a day for 2012

birdsong spill vine

wear the mask
tine the task
rhyme is rhythm
blood pulsed in desire
painted with wanting
haunted with silence
here the dew covers
the open window too
fills the destiny tabled feast
what do you want I ask myself
all I can mouth is full of you
languages of the stag watching
how I taste more and
grab hold of everything you are
perhaps fairy tales are made
to give limbs to lust and
not cautionary maps
but who knows

another thought
another pair of wings
could be just denial
seeking to steal the light and
then I pause
still you are there
everywhere I let go of design and
all I want is to eat
every part of this dream
though the birds keep singing
they know the Moon is waning and
bellying up legs up
pulling the Sun in

an open window knows
I am finding wares to peddle
in the open street
in the cars
in the coffins
that the traffic lights whisper to
when I go by fingering
a black velvet sky
peeling further inside me
I know I am all about lust
I know I tremble with it
I know I want to please
I want to ease into pulled skin
into handfuls of you
make me swear on the tombstones
catching the headlights
like a thousand hands searching
for where I got in
where I am only a man
a poet who likes clever and
is willing to sever the canopy of self
from his shadows beneath the trees

everything knows
we empty ourselves
with desire and why
though eyes comb the dark
I crawl with them closed and
tongue the silence for more
for everything
that roots here
in hidden smiles
in lodestones at the corner
of permanent and dissolve
wading the dark rums
of the wax sealed bottled life
we have been opening for days and
have nearly finished and
I only smile in sharp knives
when we break through 

when nothing matters
except that open window
I will know
it's cold as you breathe
against my skin and
I slow finger trace
each memory to find you
there waiting inside a moment
I stop and stare at 
with my tongue
leading the way
for my nose remembers
it was you all along
that found
where I surrendered
to the spill vine 
of your birdsong


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