poem 321 of a poem a day for 2012

I titillate

I am a gyration

in a nation of snakes

that do not wish

to see the shed skin luxury

of the mirror held

close enough to be

what truth finds in the places

we seed dreams in an exhale

I weave words

to call the waters

I cover myself in desire

in order for you

not to see me in pain

I am that hunch

you never announce

but never let go of

I am that voice

in the dark

that sees beyond

a reason to stop

I am the mask

of a thousand faces

I am what

can’t be erased

from memory

I am the smell

that lingers

I am inside

each thought

each sentence

each mile

of the road

before you

I am the distraction

I am the polar attraction

I am not fit

to my humanity

I am carved 

to its bones instead

so when you stop

along the side

of the journey

you’re on

you might see me

in the neon

and smile nervously

because I look

an awful lot like you do

right then and now

EJR ©