October 28, 2012

poem 404 of a poem a day for 2012

all my hands, itch

in the thinning veils, our regales are prevalent tangles of selfless and selfish impulses, roaming amid drawn falling star dissolve, life outdoors, here in the southern edges of the northern mixed deciduous and coniferous forest, highways, houses and hearths intersperse beacons, in the streets, where well water might be, potted as tea, warm and safe, battened down, behind windows, regarding each look with ease, the wind and cold, lingering near memory, when the smells of these tropical systems with female names, come crawling through all the dead things, we celebrate, manifesting late October, so full of life, we stir our electrical impulses, we accordion fold holographic universes, we play the exhales to know every sonata, the griots and the mariachi might have known, between the dreams we see and...

the cupped tea  
the witch hazel
the gnarl bark
the elder berries
the tree seasons
the tested turns
the clocks of tiny knives
the burning endless lines

each hand
each reach
presses together
our inter-lockings
our crossings
our fingerings
our drawings
our mathematical madness

only superstition and
can go about
street level devils
and any 
who may care
of rhythms
to be
in order
to be 
this always
makes us
take a drink or
rabbit hole dive
into animal desire
each invisible bite
each slight
pinching fold
at the gather
is another
of why
we smile
even when 
things are bad

we speak volumes
to each other
before a word is said
as silence is
never really quiet
as much as tuned in

just like music playing
when you’re alone
any fantasy
is dancing
a patter beat
of rain
coming in
like saints
gone marching
gone crawling 
like we already 
knew to do
when we came
wandering, too
our eyes full
of hope and renew
in endless lines
endless hand
for a bite


No comments:

Post a Comment