August 8, 2012

poem 264 a poem a day for 2012

salty sinners for your dinner theater, darling

I am strung marionette-d
and vetted to working the lights
and falling in Love with reaction
to how the silhouetted magic gets into us
and suspends time
allows imperfection
to be your portal rain
the cloud to poured articulation
of never having to ask why again  
potter wheels chorus the forms
scratch at our hunger every time
to feed humanity’s deep thirst
to drink past a soul’s bones and skin
and electrical dimensions

the hand bills all said
there’d be no intermission
and I write my words
in the shadows of intentions
that are only paper thin in origin  
as originality never mentioned
that it took the last train
before the wind took over
the daily commuted carve
of all the declarations of me, we have

you can see in a painted light show
and a suspension of belief
enough to thieve into the audience
from the catwalks, to fish
to steal the keys of carriage
from the slow fire of their rusted surrender
and afflictive whispers
and thinning burns
and their tapping the table for another card
because we are all able to parade
through what the infinitesimal knives
of a thought’s deconstructed velvet
tells us is our old ways without words

that dead star crescendos
that appear every time
the finale nears us
are the objects in the mirror
are my hands are stringing
the audience with their exhales
from the little pocket wishes
that may have been born
without a mouth in the dark
as the curtains close
and the house lights
come back on


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