October 24, 2012

poem 396 of a poem a day for 2012

the poem is pistol whipping petal wings of creativity inside my thoughts of pyramids

when am I here
in the roam
in the dark velvet
in the loam
they find me
they grind me
into powdered bones
into concrete
and reinforced steel

I am a skeleton
craving electrical stimulation
along guided angel wires
in the pollens of seasons
I write, turning my birth
to carve air
to flights
to dares
to wax melted
to falls
to gravity’s clay hands
to rivers shaping wombs
disguising death
as calling my name
among pieces of time
I steal
I claim tinder and flint
I burn the trees
back to the grasslands

I want everything
I can take
I can hold
in each breath
in each deep questioned why
why war
why famine
why rampant population growth
without sustainable spring form humanity
why are the cake pan destinies
streetlight styled shadows
that calculate chances in neon spotlights
onto your life expectancy
only to sell odds with paper gold
meant more to cajole than to inspire you
this is marketeering at its best
at its sharp blade held to my throat
my soul’s thinnest membrane
dredging and pacing close to the fine
silt and mud of my molecular veils
finger tapping the taut tight taught radio transmissions
the woven skies full of chem-trail emissions
the control arms stretching our animal hides into lives
we are the sideways drumming
we are madness, running around
banging slowly from each first cry
to every coffin draped lie

each of us is skin over bone
each of us is a bloom
each of us is a door
that leads to where
our humanity is
between the Sun
and the outer space
that we have placed
our wishes on repeatedly
looking up
to pin the night sky
where we have always wanted
to feel welcomed
where we know we are part
of a greater good

this why I pierce my flesh
with pound metal antennae
why my cold forged hard shells
are fires enveloped to enclose
the seed-podded sounds
one heartbeat at a time makes

we become thunder
in questions weighted
we utter with faith
when hope is as dangerous
as the plague
when modernity challenges
the certainty of failure
we are spawn
we are fawns
we are drawn
toward conclusions
that look like light
we are too many rats
in too many cages
we are wrapped around ourselves
on store shelves
in a one god argument
as we search for grace
and silence in the white noise

I am chewing the wires
that steal into the skies
I want the desires
the soft peddle surrenders
the warm blind places to crawl to
I want to eat the whispers of parted time
I want to taste every beauty that captures me
especially when I am not expecting it to

what I write isn't poetry
it is clever pinwheels
all my not wanting to be understood
all my walking through living cemeteries
all my wanting to be written in passing
all my playing the game past go
and collecting two hundred dollars
knowing the road is an open journey
to atomic stillness and electron observation

cats have eyes like paper lanterns
for this purpose and only fools
assign light as luck
any candle lit is a ring
a bell danced knock on wood
as midnight might be
peering in through windows
wanting some meaning
and explanations
for why smiles hold court
when handling the oven door
and opening it to smell
the warm bread
and the cures
that turn mankind
into a moment
that tastes infinity again


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