September 12, 2012

poem 320 of a poem a day for 2012



Moses, the March Hare and the thirsty goatskin

I knew to crawl across broken glass
as I tried to get past myself
to look back to see if my life
was just a bleeding out
of sympathies for the devil inside me

vultures circle high against the Sun
knowing each thermal ridden
is an unwind into the stench
of any death that nears
the last abyss we leap
one they feed at the precipice  

but as choice and destiny
partner the will of humanity
I am strong enough sometimes
to drink the slow sharp edge
of melted sand as if it were cool water
in a chalice full of ripe sate

so while I am always late
and in a hurry
scurrying flurries of words
to paint the exits
where my soul goes to
where my home seems to be
clutched sand and time
pouring out the mandalas
of my intricate madness

I rest a hat on my chest
and smile for I am
not dead yet
I am not
I am not
I am not
just another pierce-shard
reaching for you
to cull me into your memory

the blood coming to the surface
says look Edward you have trespassed
against someone and here
is their pain one knee at a time
one palm pressed looking for a heartbeat
as I look over my shoulder
and see the drag of red
against the desert floor
and all the minions of promises
that will ease the pain
like a shot of morphine
or the quickening of lead

but something always tells me
to go on and search out purpose
in the vast empty landscapes
that used to be tidal marshes
with the sound of baskets
and ample breasts
and hoisted hems
waiting to fish me out
waiting for that me
I dream about to reach out
from the other side
of infinite desire

as the cactus tells me
how to hold the water
and to come and get some
but the price is
that bitten bullet
and a ring of salt
around my mouth
when I am looking
at the Sun after having
finally given up to turn over
onto my back to say
that this life
is something I want
no more

EJR ©

1 comment:

  1. Seventh stanza is remarkably visual, a hand reaching from the water to a waiting hand. I can hear waves lapping and the buzz of insects, well done.

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