poem 178 of a poem a day for 2012

a voice carried proxy humanity  

is a me and my shadow luxury

standing in the beach grove 

wade tiding broken glass

left behind bottled emotions

carbon leak gas

from rusted seals

from jagged apathy

from fissures growing

we are hungry for books

and acknowledgement

and every blissful ignorance

we are dependent on the trough

on our wet chattel mind’s lack of graces

we love gauging speculation on

what we’ve already sold

of our soul from our eyes

inside our street corners

trying to instill life

in a solved puzzle on the sofa

we fill ourselves with every

sweet taste of the dark

that can burn promise

to ash by morning light

we are our mental dimensions

we institute a purgatory between them

we become patients and

we wander in the dream gardens after midnight

our taped wrists flap ports of calling madness

we are leaning over the rails and waving at the taxis

they are rolling on by, never once looking over

or appearing to be thinking about stopping

to pick up your fare, my fare, our fare

not fair, we become aware

we become the wear thin

slow dissolve that eventually

is mist in the morning

we are molecular memory 

we are bottom curves

we are a smooth clung birth water

we are dew on the leaves

we are the vessels that desire

can breathe full of

lying in wait with

pieces of each other

we can put together

to last past the Dawn  

EJR ©