poem 179 of a poem a day for 2012 ( with a little nudge from double N )

chapel chattel, altar alterations ( in honor of Ray Bradbury )

part 1 ( the conversation)

yes I said to the raven and the Goddess

the mad irony is that digitization

is almost inherently the ax upon all the trees

paper pages, sages in the wind

we rescind our rights in rites

we blindfold ourselves from

each formed value of sin

here ye here ye scry cryers call

burn thee not your books

but all the skin with which you crawl

towards the manna in the molecules

and the chosen one's bits of electrical pulse

in the myriad crouches of tiny zombie Prometheuses

that are disguised as lines of code

these ever hungered mouths for silence

will always ghost the machine

looking for our souls to deride

part 2 ( the proclamation)

liquid skin membrane changeling

curtain ring go to church

to hear animal Divinities sing

look around as a child would

wonder why all the sinners come here

when outside folks seem less rebellion

and more hand to mouth

part 3 ( evocation)

placation vacation

surrender to an above

your very own reach lottery show

milking color from light

and blinding yourself

with the science of faith adhered to

saying atoms looked into won't do

so pick a flavor and chew yourself

into the cud Olympics

spit grass the fast gas

as another way to break the water

human industrial reign is a fire

that seeks control of the limbs everywhere

pyramids are feeding silos

and we are on our backs

to be fed the led to slaughter

of principled mantra soul chanting

part 4 ( buying the bullets )

everything we do is a come on

quick sell motivational speech

for the next generation

piped in music from recessed speakers

mumble a constant jazz

"you'll get yours when you die"

and most of us on the deep level

of the devil smiling inside us

are still not buying that

and while this may not make me

father of the year or husband or friend

I am at least in clearer view

of the mirror anew and nearer

the burn where I have always spent time

in books that were dared into life

it seems to me that to see 

an idea of individual Divinity

is what we are supposed to find

and is almost always what is deemed

too close too, to someone's idea

of what the spill frenzy of chaos does

releasing itself as hounds 

among the masses

part 5 (digging the graves)

to stage this play

would weave imbalance and death

in acts of weather and these words

that are meant to free our minds

and asses in the clouds

know we would know 

in the soft paraded loud telescopes

the bloodless half of our spirit 

is leaning into infinity 

to steal time as we speak

and through those very clouds

these tell us scoped reasons 

scout more rocks

in more fabric ribbons of space

to plant more flags

and burn yet another part

of the beating heart of humanity

into hard faced scars

and pieced metal

that no longer

knows or wants

to be an animal

or a child in awe

of each other

EJR ©