poem 157 of a poem a day for 2012

beyond my madness I am just holding buckets of tears with the make-up of a clown in the clouds

here I am

all lies

broken toothed undone

where my creative expression

is just my ill-fit soul

and the sickness of my consumption

of the industrialization of this world

I know anybody can be waylaid

in the mechanicals

so I keep my blood greasy

prevent the cogs of that single father God

and his churched euphoria

from stopping me

so I watch TV to see how

it feeds more bodies

more ways to ensnare the spirit

vessel-ing empty into my cage

that is wired for sound

and smell to remember

that any path I choose

to be in the dark

is a righteous one

if I feel ignorance is safe

I can't see who I am

inside myself

I try to light my way back in

I try to reverse my birth in poems

from a mad womb

with its maddening lack of smiles

I can't control anything

do I even want to

seems looms are everywhere

are even in the weather

and they weave elements

of my madness

near the depot

as I hustle crumbs

corner to corner

waiting for the trains

trying to act smart

while behaving dumb

in a gathering lathered

edge of almost

I am ripe with fear

of success or that maybe

I am blessed with guile

to do something beautiful

or outlast my Love with pain

so instead

I static wail with wry words

I mimic all of life's stations

what do I know

what will I ever know

is this ever after

a forever or

is it just now

and as I can't get out

of my own way

am I another form

of facade today

or tomorrow perhaps

the latest promenaded paraded fool

that knows to lean

into formation with solitude

near where I go to school

the wind whispers to me

don't say how you feel motherless child

write with your quick wit and loins

this will keep you awhile longer

while I carve your bones out of time

and find where the bread

and circus whores retire to

as I am sure they will more

than welcome you home

if you just keep writing

your life as one long poem

EJR ©