July 22, 2012

poem 246 of a poem a day for 2012

to keep from feeding the animal

I am
nectar hunting
a burning
in the Easter grass
my memory spins fast
past woven
colloquial safety
and parochial
expressions all
bunched and gathered
I torch-rapture-carry myself
in a harried hurry
to the summit
in the dark
in a frenzy
with help me
tapping the conductor wand
for any movement to begin

can’t stop the monsters
they call each piece of silver
to find a day of the week to haunt
as they grind
the slow evaporative
execution song of my soul
beneath my chase
of beauty in remnant
broken pottery

all the industrial harmonies
are the soft pierce of knives
in the wind
and I am
pieced together
a tattered sail cloth
with holes poking
through what illusion
I use to feign passage
through each this
until I can no longer
stand still
or stay

mother nature
is on lead guitar
She is screaming
into the spaces
between my electrical divinity
and giving up completely
on what my dreams
can do when
I believe in them

wither is
my sorrowful death
and it is
in refrain
warm licking
every surface
with the fine toothed
dust of a slow tided  
in the sand
that no matter
how clever
or mad
I am
I still can’t
make it rain
without asking
for something
outside my
comfortable cage


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