poem 363 of a poem a day for 2012

selling off what’s precious to buy into the future

from mountains to oceans again

the coal slow grind of diamonds

is the snow

that covers every motive

that every footstep brings

broken bones are covered

in the perfection

in their algorithmic

geometric shapes  

none will be repeated

they are the babies of gravity

water and the stage hands in the sky

that never succumb to calendars

as much as the change of seasons

weather seems to feed me

from deeper parts of the circles and elliptical roads

my soul seems to be travelling on

and at the way stations

when we are held

without the promise of paper currency

the street corner sale of my soul

keeps me streetlight traffic hungry

I waste myself for food that makes me think

no crops or chemicals will be made available to me

I am going to see if any of the little fiefdoms

coming to become a town will have me

when I am past my industrial breakdown

tomorrow knows, maybe I am coming

to believe in something out there

maybe there are too many real estate agents

in space pimping asteroids to time weary souls

mine this rock, they say

Earth is over rated

maybe, if you sign on

and you are successful

the sales pitch goes

you’ll get to be Marlon Brando

when you get back

with a pocket full of coin

and your own island of pillaged humanity

with so many ways to feed

what tides your desire for more shores

so you can listen for the stars that fall

into the hungry mouths of the seas

that you are made of

with a mastery of uncertainty

in the metallurgy of your greed

we know you demand copious amounts

of salt in love with need

EJR ©