November 15, 2012

poem 421 of a poem a day for 2012

thirsting for soul, twenty four hours a day

drunk with smells
time is a forest
filled with faces
between shadows
and lights
chaining eternity
to the wind
recalling dressed whispers
in elaborate symphonies
of incubation and
the birth-petal lust
of madness disguised
as beauty and purpose

here is where
you will find
the essential questions
opening bottle
after bottle
of spirits
in a saloon
that never closes
and is always willing
to set aside
a table or two
for those of us
who want to gamble

those of us
who wager our souls
for something more
delicate and temporary
as opposed to being
someone’s memory
etched on a rock
or caught
in a fading photograph
like some little tribute
to their permanent wane
chancing the wheel
spinning between safety,
relevance and insane


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