July 15, 2012

poem 238 of a poem a day for 2012

when solitude gets lonely 
(searching for scratch-n-sniff color in a white noise world poem)

I start to burn things down
I look for what’s left behind
in the modern Pandora’s Box
that television has become
I look for silver and
the feel of shine
that the claw hammered nails
in my eyes can unhinge the Sun with
as sometimes I have enough courage
to keep screaming whispers
behind closed doors
and drawn curtains

I want to tell you
how much this world
is upside down
but I can’t because
I am afraid you might
not like me afterwards
so I finger paint and I masturbate
enough that my soul stays
in a trembled
so-stay-a-quiet-scribbler-Edward mode
I fantasize about beauty
that grows from repugnancies
because when you see me there
I am just another motherless seed
hoping the wind can catch me
falling again when I leap
from any reason to live

I do this, because I am not comfortable
knowing this world isn’t about laughter
as much as it is about asset allocation
and the location of every trap door
the soul knows to disappear through

like I do in my portal entry gains
on clever, fertile plains
with my imagination, teemed with gazelles
worshipping wide hipped women
who like to ride the elements
in an endless tided ripening
so foragers like me can know
that iron for mankind
will always be on fire
and bitten to spit
and that only time
needs refinement
if we lean in here, fit
to bleed these sorrows
and tomorrows
for more joy
to run today


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