June 27, 2012

poem 201 of a poem a day for 2012

Who are you poet

why do I deify my ego
am I king of the beasts
or at least master
of an industrial age puppetry
a road grading rapist
of painted words as trees
with a clever bend
of my knees
as it suits
my gains

Dawn is outside
the window
in a cool wrap
high spun fingered rain
wearing every bridge
of tomorrow nearing
knowing why the leaves cry
as I do exiled
from the main lines
of my life
I am drinking dissent
in the desert
grinding sand into
the temporary
of glass

I want to see through
to get past
what I may never know
as anything other than
the fast exit of a bullet
but I am a slow bleed
with no need
not to feel pain
so what of the unanswerable
why the sharp sticks
in my eye
the behavioral dissection
of the razed erection
of blaming everyone
but myself for how
I can’t seem to fit in
to anywhere but the wind
and the carve
that memory serves
for the songs walls sing
these serenades are more
nurse-maid than ample breasts
I can rest my hunger on
always wanting something
I cannot define


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