September 7, 2012

poem 313 of a poem a day for 2012

soup’s on

is the business
of sorrowful knees
looking for
the pavement to buckle
at the end of Summer
it traces the weeds
in the cracks

tell me baby
tell me what you need
if you want to please
like the neon outside the window
and the afterglow of my intention
as I want in, so let’s jump
and swim the undertows

even with the air-conditioner on
you can feel the humanity
teeming outside the slow tide of glass
the lights are out in the room
and I have drawn the curtains
as I am certain my hands are minions
of my nose as I reach for the throes
while rapid-passaging
my little surrenders
inside every rabbit hole
you know to follow 

each choice, is voiced
in a lean moan
in the heavy grass
forming water
the bait
I snack on
in your exhales
rune letters are the
written excitement skinned
with anticipation sated
in the foggy steam

the wrinkled cotton
clutches the birth
of new memories made
in the patterns
of your scent forests
that are still warm
and mapped to me
as I get up to pee


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