July 11, 2012

poem 229 of a poem a day for 2012

mingle muffle shuffle, I am dozing off into a fantasy of scary algebra

Spanish is being spoken
this time
I am an image stain
the ringing madness
that doesn't hear 
the sentence
the guy 
that is 
always just beginning

I keep refining myself
birthing myself for more
through the filtered
losses of my reasons to live
none of which, ever have
a measurement
outside of the dark
part of my soul

I am a whole grain
a sweet entry
I am the cut nails dug in
I am a tongue for tided salt
a valley explorer
a clung vine of
what I can fine
when finding
the fencing for
my fast fingers and
the lingering touch of
what I have painted
into murals

as they are just stories of
my own modern morals
these poems are at most
only an objectification of
my humanity caged
and a fear
that we will have to
sell our blood for licenses
to consume in this
not so free world
and the news
fanning every char
it can in me
may even spread
virally into all of you

or so I think
as I am mostly
only mysophobic
in slow nodding yesses
in quickening dreams
all the words 
that are welling 
all the words
I have for being
far enough away
from me and
all the words
that are there
as I am
all too often
too close to myself
too maze-d with decisions
with too many
drawn circled choices
already reaching an erase

meanwhile all the squares
are where they are
not supposed to be
through to another side of angels
they can find the songs of
right angles in the wrong places
and imagining themselves
with every pretty
triangle that has three faces
all laced up and
waiting for them at home
while Governor Isosceles cops pleas
to a justice of the peace
the tequila wears off
and the side of the road 
says stay here
and please me
for awhile


No comments:

Post a Comment