August 6, 2012

poem 261 of a poem a day for 2012

on paper, I was drawing little waves

these little
curly lines
that looked like
an endless
sea of breasts

I was feeding   
my absolution
milking my hunger
to return
to the tides in
gnarled barking trees
in their tines
I was time
slowed down
in the maples
in their sylvan disguise

all the woods know
every house of humanity
is mostly a facsimile
to their impermanence
they garden entropy
march them with milkweed
and lamb’s ear in August

oaring into the divide
glide curling last night’s
warm sheeted rain
woven southerlies
drunk on soft wool
and tender bites
and the certainty
of writhe adhesion
in league with
Autumnal preparations

our bones are reparations
we consecrate for every carve
that a simple flush of skin
can bleed with
when we let go
of ourselves
to hold something
so tightly
so very close to us
that tears and rain
are the very same thing


1 comment:

  1. Love love this one, and especially the fourth stanza.