poem 336 of a poem a day for 2012

bending the Moon for wine

I put another quarter in

the jukebox signals

a pinball-ing of the ends

of my soul

portrays it as a feast

the table is set I say

ringing the dinner bell

and wiping my fingers

on my sleeve

the chalkboard sandwich sign

has a fresh new menu

skinny velvet in fat smiles

let’s gather I say

in crooked limb dances

let’s burn the dark

let’s seed what we like

and pocket sew

the bottle tops

let’s throw every lark we have

into the fires

and hark their cries

as if it were the music

of a late September evening

let’s turn our forks

to the road

let’s travel

to reach each door we find

let’s heavy knock and wait

let’s each of us tine pierce

our flesh to let go of the past

let’s know where the metal

in our soul is wanted

let’s raise our glasses

and turn our backs into asses

for the crows

to find our shiny regards

and let’s signal our empty

as a heavy part of time

let’s be the grasses

bending the heads

we’ve collected and

strung with bread-ties

and dried fishes

and the weight

of each of us

pushing into

the catacomb wombs

of Winter again

let’s sharpen our nails

and angle-lengthen the Sun

let’s careen each blade

let each word

we utter become

the skin stabbed

past our ribs

let’s carve through

the finger-tipped

yellowing maple leaves

let’s be somewhat

gingerly and thirsty

as we quiet step

a waiting on the wind

let’s be

the rain

of a hurricane

climbing from the seas

let’s remind ourselves why

Autumn guards

everything we bleed for

along the way

to where we are

home again

EJR ©