September 12, 2012

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


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