August 28, 2012

poem 289 of a poem a day for 2012




shape-shifting, the passing lanes of kilns

being someone’s baby in the rain
turns the asphalt to flags
like my legs after sex
buckling  with needs
bleeding water near
the slow oxidation of rust
past the scream of oxygen
and heaved rib cages
pain is what I let go of first
left signal and all burst
as if a long forgotten foul ripe cause
that sounded good
at the time when I first mouthed it
in slow syllabic crawls
now it is just pavement
rendered with mile markers
that look like tombstones
and broken tided glass
in those windows with
those old wooden frames
and rope pulleys
and peeling paint
stealing away
to find the smoothed edges
of my jagged tide pulses
every vein and artery
that mimics
the ways of water
and gravity
and the shapes
I take inside me

spun smudged
potter’s smiling
strong hands
gentle glide
to a hollow form
and this is how
I become filled again
in the fields of
a blooming petal
kept-mouth-shut
quiet rain

someone says
take my hand
and wet-clay
your world again
the constancy of
your chaos pours
with the rhythm
of an old soul singing
children’s songs that say
you want every why answered
as you breathe awe and wonder
in the deep gaze of rats
being led by pipers
to the mountain halls of kings
scrying lightning along the way
lightening the load
of shadows beneath
a tremble cling of leaves
at the beginning of Autumn’s
tropical courtesans
those rakish finger-caravans  
that bring back
the sentinel arms
of the bare silhouetted
trees again

no road
can be a womb
that holds
a thirst like you
so go ahead
the songs sing
take that hand
and be someone’s
baby in the rain


EJR ©

4 comments:

  1. nice..you take us from image to the next..i like the nod to the pied piper as well..the old soul singing children's song...wet-clay your world again...and then with the closure you take us to the start..

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  2. wow...this is a wonderful journey...and where you end up is strong...love that no road can be a womb....your first bit comparing to your legs after sex as well....wow....very cool....

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  3. A kaleidoscope of image upon shattered image that drives a sense of disoriented alienation, yet also a deeper well of feeling, strong enough to buckle asphalt and legs. Gifted writing here.

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  4. great lines.... being someone’s baby in the rain
    turns the asphalt to flags
    like my legs after sex
    buckling with needs
    bleeding water near
    the slow oxidation of rust
    past the scream of oxygen ..........great journey.

    ReplyDelete