June 4, 2012

poem 176 of a poem a day for 2012

ash crawling

there is a method in
the madness of our ripening
our pounce ready eddy
stilled upon a branch of chance
we are waiting on in the dark
with our bright vision nosing
cage calling the finger food politics
and scepter kissing as only one
of our national past times
the rhymes of humanity are broken
spoken in the pieces of time
we have all fleshed for a tomorrow
and that we sing to in the borrowed
choruses of civilizations before us

I too, hear the Mayans
and the Anasazi curl howls
into the ghost wind
circling for eons
around these tided continents
and trees and their seeds
that know better and let go in here
are limb crawling ashore half in whim
half thirsting for more window than door
and you the poet
and artist
and entertainer
and dabbler of magic cantos
are all mystics wading eternal baptisms
your toes all know
to push away the eyes
and find the mouth
waiting to know
every sense that can grow
inside your suckle stories


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