October 3, 2012

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


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