October 15, 2012

poem 379 of a poem a day for 2012





the slow siphon alchemy sounds of paper money

this is an old river town
it is full of thieves
and bureaucrats with hands
that are like razors
clean-combing the streets
for crumbs and rolled change
planting long lines
to fish the teeming seams
between black market economies
beneath the expression
of hurry in the faces
of denizen scurry
and the paper currencies
they cover their bases with
their paces and places
and what erases memory
just long enough for them
to forget what happened yesterday

these gambling joints
stretch out and are
open all night
they anoint chance
after chance
on wooden floors
they howl loudly for more
more beer
more wagers
more things
that can comfort us
as thin as the light
bending around the corner
as it is nearing Dawn again

and even as the tranquility 
of each day's re-birth
seeps in with
the certainties of surrender
it is just a quiet invitation 
to take another chance
in the accordion-collapsible destinies
you can find from the cobblestone to the asphalt
from the next locomotive way 
to every in and around
of these bi-sects of human desire
that go where they can
to find the costs
of a free market world
where they go to gain 
the knowledge of when
to fold themselves in
and go home with at least
one piece of gold
anchoring what's left of their soul
as they hold what is
in their pockets
to compass-point them
toward what tomorrow can bring
with any luck left over
as they climb the stairs again

EJR ©

1 comment:

  1. you're on a roll today.. love your perspective on these stark truths, put forth so assiduously, it rights me for one as i go along working here. Respect to you, appreciation. naomi

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