poem 397 of a poem a day for 2012

daydream pickaxe

wear the well

draw for sale

every messiah

is pointed by season

modern time

is clock-less reason

or at least

the turn buckle

ordinal points

on our maps

guide painted

and engraved with

magnets and groceries

inside the pre-frontal lobes

I am still turned on

despite the jade

I still remember

what it means

to be altruistic

and simplistic

needing to please

being written

and unwritten

through generations

of industrial, molecular

breakdown, breeding

the genomic code

is the box Pandora kept

and we are thieving

its sanctuary

with our eyes

cutting slow proliferations

of psychopathic minds

in checkout lines

tined snakebites

in our arteries

filling with carbon fuels

in go and careens

in rubber wheeled

coffin screams

the radio is on

and it is somebody’s

Elvis again

paused on velvet

catching the grin

folding paper dollars

hollering for pyramid sin

for the power

of the community

to be wielded

anonymously

without individual glory

bore-holing reason

keeping each animal at bay

every madness in harness

and dog law response chains

here in America

the story

is constantly changing

to fit the pattern

of politicization

too little social dialogue

too much topical interaction

too many citizenry regulations

too little corporate ones

it’s all absolute zeroes

trying to trickle down

to find a sound

where the white noise

bleeds you the least

so your day count

is a long one

and you live

with enough hope

that one day

we might just

evolve enough to keep

Pandora's box closed

for Her

EJR ©