poem 258 of a poem a day for 2012

for everything a coin will bell

I am tipping the uteruses

I am a soul’s genetic modification gone awry

I am in a slow demise

I am a grind frenzy

I am give me life

I am give me wings

I am give me a reason

not to be the fool

not to be so full of naivete

not to be so cruelly ignorant

when gifted with words

that measure desire

that measure what

can fill a broken cup

I am clever

I am street corner desire

I am the self immolation

of a 10 penny side show freak show

I am slow burning with a staked Sun

that yearns to mimic my hunger

for more skin to cover my empty holes

I am just another Moses

on the soles of every foot

carried by the wind

I am something you wipe away

before any house is entered

with the candles lit

and the windows open

and the sensual feast of Pomona waiting

I am anticipation

I am the quiet of desperation

I am never sated

I am not elated to ever know

I may never have a home

EJR ©