May 15, 2012

poem 158 of a poem a day for 2012

introduction to sand 

I am a soul
threadbare in a world
that no longer needs
someone to say
what's beneath
the skin of things
as if I only angels
wanted wings
and trumpets and
blades to know the pomp
and circumstances
that whore time
for more chains

when I see one
of my kind I know
what is useful to them
and what I can do to
paint the enemy closer
to be the mirror
to be nearer
the outside of my fine
to be a wasted divinity
so sometimes
I don't say a word
and just hang blood
beneath the bark of
a tree slung vine
not crawling
not calling as another
silent poet might
wait for their finality
in a song that sees
an end of light to be

we hear taps
perhaps play
in this modern age
but it's just the wind again
carving whistles in our bones
that begin to sage the seas
that eventually
take every land
and turn it to heaves
into pulsed desires  
and those sands in glass
that hope caresses
each prayer to pass
to clutch threadbare
where I am a soul
alone and aware
that stones 
big and small turn
all the dark 
back into here


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