June 18, 2012

poem 191 of a poem a day for 2012

shiny echo disguises of the Goddess mining the tides

when the Earth is turned
from spade to dead starry steam
will it matter if we age our innocence
to die withered by blaming sin
while the alchemical fire
of our souls’ reach for more remains
piled high in our memory
raising the Lazarus of free will  
intentionally spilling blood
into the Piezoelectric fields
that we till with rusted steel
to feel our way along
where we might fence our good

John Deere once made the plow
that broke the plains
and science has re-animated wanting
in each frenzy limb
in each lurch trawl of the seasons
in each ghosted Spring ever since

the high priests of seeds
put patents on the wind
and each carve of hunger
yet to be wrinkled skin
or some other clock
that says dig dig dig
the dead will sing here
and know each moment
is eventually owned in ashes
in pockets
in what Love does
when we let go of hope
to rust with a belly of fire
still so alive in our eyes


1 comment:

  1. Once again, the last stanza is my favorite...you are a great closer :)