May 29, 2012

poem 168 of a poem a day for 2012

into something that smells of a heavy lift

grass grows insists on being mowed
knows we don't always accept 
what's wild inside us
dares to vine a tine full of dark soul
covering the barrels of guns with flower stems
shooting the blossoms into 
what is forseen as ends
staying to feed the masses

we plant in asses
frontal electronic dissonance
we numb the dead
so we can dance on the grave
live off those still beating their hearts
as if the drums of Jericho
are ice cream trucks all playing
can I get some of that

we climb towers 
fill them as ants
and we are sent bastards 
we are centralized banks
lending weeps and sows
and we know to go to a different economic model
of certainty, though it's hard to grow
from comfort and rust into rage
that must be present for Love
to come home to where we are again

my madness is a jazz 
that plays wings 
despite being boxed
into esoteric existence
with a resistance of bread
rising on a warm sill
even if I am just a ghost that wants
I want to stop you with a pause
long enough to swim your undertows
and find where you might stand
tall enough to bring the rain

the thirsty plains
climate isolation wants rain in the delta
silt tongues dream of this
pressed in stretched calliope
electrical pulse webs
I'm always turning something on
other than my selfless parts
my surrender is the silent pool
the ripe waiting
my pride is okay for ballast
but not meant to build with
I am too voracious of a mouth
to be led near the watery stillness before Dawn

Summer is leaning
heavy leaded statues
are waiting for nitrogen in kisses
that bring the birdsongs
those belled reminders
that curve along the back of a woman
grab hold, slide hands down bitten shoulders
reaching in, wet claying fingers
lingering where roots sweeten themselves
with more bliss

I hear the saint of strain
slow slicing to gain the wind
you breathe desire in those spaces
that water waits for someone to wade in
bending limbs, some call it sin
I call it crawled desire to get back in
humanity speaks in fires
throwing flares to stop staring in the pitch black
we know the open window curls in tight
might hold on to the entry spell

tell me more please,pull the shade
as I pull your hair
and slide my tongue along your spine
I am mining the finery of your don't stop melody
your warm skin wraps me in
with what I want
in each slung note that clings
as I do, shoulders, hands, pull words
from languages arching in quiet
each parted black surrender
says don't worry or hurry
just let go and feel 
how to push back
onto each other
with each coil of time fleshed
stretched, rolling eyes 
like dies in blood
tided to screaming 
and cupped handed hearts
we bend to drink dreams 
we sew lust so that it will never matter
what you look for in the stars
for they know they are dead
and only shadow the light
with a drive to get inside
what we think of as skin and sky
but maybe hope can live there on that other side
where we dare to let go of pre-conception
to conceive these articles like fingers
reaching for roses to pull more windows
into the heavy smell of salt
looking for something to preserve
looking for something to taste
and remember


1 comment:

  1. No words will come to do this justice so 'i love this' will have to suffice.