June 29, 2012

poem 204 of a poem a day for 2012

what is my fate, what is my rage

what is the turn wheel of the seasons
that says reason is the only way to security
as if freedom were a dependent
with locked door parents
I have walled off myself
to most of the world
as I do not feel like I fit in
to anywhere except inside my own mind
and even here I swear all the time
that fate is a curse and freewill is
what I am addicted too
though I can only delude myself for so long
as most of you see me as just another poet
who tries to find a way outside my devices
I have failed my children
I have failed my marriage
I have failed myself
at the hands of my funhouse humanity

the slow humid lean of the Sun nearing July
is pressing against the old glass of a house
that is not mine to tell me it knows
I cannot see past my pain
that I am defined by it
by its rusted refinement of distrust
I do not see hope as a future outcome
only a homelessness and wandering
that must be close enough
for even all of you to see
in my hand lantern swelter
I need the shelter of a knowledge of nothing 
I need myself to believe I can be something
other than the ugly voices
that tell me pretty words to write
that might cover up the sores
when I sleep at night
and tremble past the dreams
I used to be so sure of
that are now hollow pointed ghosts
ready to tear at my flesh
and give me every reason
to stop breathing
if only to have my body
catch up to the stillness
of my fearful soul in its cage


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