September 28, 2012

poem 345 of a poem a day for 2012

conversation with mr hyde

lift yourself off the pavement
that is slow perpetual death
life is light and bright
and it happens
on every city street
and country road
where the stars burst-poke
every ripe fiber you have

your eyes are controlled
by your fear and
cultivate blind memory
the nose knows
smells every truth
weighted down somewhere
past midnight
my mind wanders
toward another drink to feel
I like the high when alone
and early Autumn says bow
to the scent of Summer

mr hyde I presume
under this manic
near full Moon
he a ghost
that follows me
home to home and
just waits right outside
waiting for things
that were once green
to become burning poems
to become seed heads
waiting for greed
to come together
like wet spun clay-ed intention
waiting for my hands-on frenzy to begin
waiting with no care or no worry
just the collection stores and labels
in the shadow lines marked in chalk
on the brick walls

I chose the alley and its iron bits
driven deep into the past
someone bought this building
awhile ago just for the garage
and I think about that every time
I am on a walk home at four am
with mr hyde waiting for me
he knows me when my lies are dry
and won’t paint anymore
and the stain is all that is left
he always said to let go
of everything to love
but I could not answer the question
of what is love anyway

I say this out loud and
mr hyde just smiles
some seen answer in the dark
that I know without having to hear it
and we find ourselves entwined
by the sat edge of tomorrow morning
holding on to rusted eyes
we have found like bent bottle caps
walking home with us
we are one
we want something
in each other

I no longer wait 
for a clearer picture
of something beyond reason
beyond what we are doing
when bandages are as good
as time and 
only use words
like maybe
instead of we’ll do it 
in the morning
and we might feel better
but I never do
I just run away and 
find anything I can
that still seeks me
without a name

I wave at every you I meet
that says sheep might be better for sleep
and I just nod hoping you
were being facetious
blinking into the temples of the dark
watching me pee in the silence
as the dew is heavy petting the decay
to herald the rain with some written notice
posted in the form of a building permit
and the odd car that passes by
a few blocks away where the dark
is a game we play guessing
who will rise first
the Sun or my spirit
inside madness again


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