July 10, 2012

poem 226 of a poem a day for 2012

the serial genetics of our black wings

monotonies in razor tremble
in cricket prayer songbooks
in the pews made of shadow
and short night news cycles
Summer is moving her lips again
and I am making all the sounds
ghost moaning exhales of Winter
in Morse code calling
for more of Her hands right there
breaching my wheelhouse
turn, turn, turning my view
into soft mud covered gold
into old barrel chests
with iron clasping and locks
and quiet looks that best say
come get me later
right now
enjoy the spoils of reaching
into the dead light of stars
and tumbling with gravity
and amassed solicitation
free wills are the keys here
are the jingle jangle jungle themes
the zookeepers repeat in dreams

they live in outer space
they are rocket ships
and angel whispered secret lovers
carving faint memory into
our thin blue cradled nest
our water spun rock and leans
into the Moon
into this camera
catching hunches
in bunches of dejavu
as everything we wee humans can think of
between a clothed here
and a naked there
are mere footprints
are the empty-s left behind
when intelligent attraction
might have been
too much too soon to remember
to feed our animals
without fucking them first
as sate begins
when a full belly
lets a soul know
what hungry is


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