July 24, 2012

poem 250 of a poem a day for 2012

it’s the entrances and exits to life that I fear

chain link fence
lightning mining
the birth tides
a bright flash staccato
fade to memories
a stuck blade
repeats every process
with a slight kilter change
from the last orbit
my skin is screaming
for my soul
to reach into me too

these thunderstorms beg
into every part of me
as if I were a king
with nothing to do
would I do
what towers of clouds do
would I dream
enough to eat
and live by
in the dark
reign of pure

hurling the wires
words are boulders
in the rain, rolling
I want the pain
of three dimensions
to go away
as fast as 
the changing faces
on the news

moving pictures
bass echo roll
deep turned stone
learn to appreciate caves
because the wind knows
to find those spaces
so full of empty
it gets to carry
the rain home
like most of us 
might eventually do
but with much more patience
than any of us
might ever have
or be capable
at these 
break neck

I’m where the wear of tire whirrs
I'm along the wet asphalt
mirroring the sky again
stretching out my light
into puppet theater
through paralyzation fields
there goes my sanity
tearing its wings off
dead weight-ing all
those bullies
boxing my pulpit

the dashboard choir
are a stop sign, right now
they church-corner peruse
they know that
I use my wordlessness
to sing my animal noises
I throttle hum my eyes
and idle my hands
I paint the most wonderful lies
on the tiles in the mosaic
I drift to understand
myself, thought
to thought trying
to find enough
broken pieces
to connect myself
to the wide world
the rolled down window
that is ready
for the green light
as am I
as am I



  1. As i read, I felt as if I was throwing myself against a locked door, for all good reasons. And the last thirteen lines are stellar stand-alones x

    1. very astute, is your feeling here, Madame Dream-way...much appreciated, having you stop on by...Edward

  2. wow you really capture the emotions in this...i agree as well with diana on the closing stanza really bringing it home nicely....evocative piece...

    1. gratitude Brian...sitting outside during a thunderstorm brings the water home sometimes and words, well, they just mirror what the Moon already does...Edward