June 6, 2012

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


No comments:

Post a Comment