September 16, 2012

poem 326 of a poem a day for 2012





story boarding orange, red and yellows to a terminal gray on a Sunday morning

should I check myself in
to the sanitarium
the aquarium of medicated womb
should I loom inconsequential
back to potential again
or should I keep blowing up bridges
as soon as I cross them
seeing another thought of tomorrow
tomorrow,  always tomorrow
hearing me say
let me borrow something
to hold onto
let me sell you my today
as it is tattered and frayed
and I am willing to pay
with the pour of my life
too many oxygen breathers
demanding birth certificates
amid the pontification
of emptying bank accounts
on this planet
for me not to cry

seems we are all sewing seams
looking for the quick fix
of rabbit holes
and the magic of lies
in the mirror
as I am left wandering
I am wondering
why every low feels
like it belongs
in the comfort of a tomb

a peaceful cold Sunday
unfurls heavy dew
and the tide chorus of Winter
abandons water
in the slide against the roofs
so while I am aloof enough
to keep everyone thinking
that I smile a lot
it is not real
and I  would rather not
see the leaves fall again
because they always remind me
of bleeding the rusted locks
from inside myself , whereas
I am my poems
I am the maples and oaks
I am scattered hope
I am bent desire
I am a rope of strange fruit
I am the silhouette left behind
what used to be easy
and is now tined against 
the bare sentinel
of my time in the trees

EJR ©

2 comments:

  1. You're great! You definitely inspire me, I'm sure many others feel the same. Never think of leaving! -D

    ReplyDelete