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

you’re-not-good-enough-

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

EJR ©