September 17, 2012

poem 328 of a poem a day for 2012

early vomit chronicles

the newspaper print
left everyone’s fingers
a dusty old photograph
my sullen eyes have slept little
as I read lights 
at the intersections
when the rag boys hawk noise
to keep the quiet out
of the open windows
and away from the strap bustle streets

the night keeps inviting me
to leave any dream I have
in an easy bake oven
with its manageable little bulbs
replacing the Suns
each time they know the words
I mouth, are of every electrical desire
they burn what matters
when I am walking out of doors
when I am selling wind
salt and keys
turning my head down
into the crawl of knees
I look for shoes to walk miles in
I turn the wheel and focus the cold air
saying I dare you too
not to bundle me up
against my chill
so fill yourself with longing
in cave wall ruins
and I will find
where the tinder is made
from the broken pieces of my heart
left out to dry

I may never be
more than an open mouthed cry
I strike rocks
and look to bleed
what I have locked
in sedentary stone
I have only known
any truth that is shown
in the tiny lightning
of every beginning 
I have ever had

this is where I always hope
to grow whole again
where I wish in spittle
and swish my thirst
from any bottle I can
my hand grasped
around its neck
its slow tided moment
with a song
that goes like this

the mounted soft rain
is screaming from my veins
I am hurting inside
I am broken
I am barely alive
no bees
no birds
nor cock fighting jive
I stay alive by burying myself
where the light can’t get inside
I sell myself poison
to keep my tongue
from telling the truth
and every pain pans
a muddy sluice of clocks
for something bright and shiny
to have and to hold and
to be told the crows
know the divide is
what I hide my shallow breaths in
and is what I hurl morning against
begging for the cover of night
to keep pressing heavy
onto my chest


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