August 29, 2012

poem 291 of a poem a day for 2012

another train conductor says

riding the rails
in push carts
stems of dreams
will vine the night
will ring out your dead
and take out your knives

we’re electing
presidents over here
as a hobo-esque drunk
it may even be my shadow
is ranting
alone at the corner
I keep my head down
in the drink
as I try and outrace
the uglies of my mind

he’s at the bar
nearest the door
he mumbles
grizzled spitted remarks
to the Canadian broadcaster
on the television
I‘ll lace the pearls
of my pee
against the alley wall
with more permanence
than thee
as I shout more songs
of my broken doll faces
that can still see every you
living despite being
in the dark with crickets
at a high frequency wash cycle

Autumn is closing in on the light
and beasts are lurking everywhere
thirsting for your skin
he says, to seed cover
and burial wrap the bleed
of your quiet begging
beneath the whir
of tires past midnight
crawling towards
another journey
to the Dawn


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