July 8, 2012

poem 220 of a poem a day for 2012

the nectar community here is…
(two parts battery terminal angels and one part bright humanity)

this drink again
is what the Goddesses
chorus in gathered cups
is what the musk Lords sing
is what magic ruptures
from the bird-trill-parted-seascapes
that contain the notes and tones
in their orchestra of every
carved soul and bone
ever dedicated to magic

humanity use to be wired
completely outside of reason
whereas now we are sown
into a thimble-thumbed
hitch-hiking numbed regard
for the shortest route
and the quickest reward
for getting mired
in the maze ritual bond
that seduces the smile
before the ghosts of freewill
petal-unfurl the infinities
of a thought realized
of a lightning-cry bottled
in the sugar again
dark rumming our sins

we are tided 
to possibility and able
to cover the undersides
of the deciduous canopy
at the near edge
of salt and sulfur
we smell home first

we give our bodies
flight patterns
we shape our courtesans
in the misty frames
of ash, dashed past
too close to
the magnetic pulses
of megaphone made
of want and wail
we hail-shape clayed desire
we are the rust and the rash
we are the madness
that lasts like you, Edward
we are your rabbit running blind
not quite able to find
the big picture show
the cinematic paradise
of escaping to the next escapade
of thrill frenzy feeding
that is the bleeding
Summer does in belly crawls
along the Northern forest floors

we are the wombs too
we are the pierce-desiccations
we are the signposts of classifications
that are so quick
they outpace human eyes
by large enough margins
to barge in and stop time
in the thinnest of slices
magnifying every trial
of what we fill the streets
of each of our Heavens
and Hells with


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