November 23, 2012

poem 427 of a poem a day for 2012

Black Friday disciples

kneading massed
wafer adhesion
toward a Monday’s
bent board wean
the needs of words
come to their senses
spending endless
future sentences
in moments of urge
crushed and arranged
by molecular mass
in the centrifuges
of measured time by sale
so in line am I
that I too
enjoy the view
lifting the skirt
standing behind
desire and
smells reigning
from fear
to upheaval

from a seagull’s, mountain low wade to wind
to the tides’ flow and gallow-lathe of sins

comfort here
is parsed
to infinity to fit in
all hail
all hail
to the blind
the poem is the glaze
that hypnotizes
the ride
of freighted chains
the count
of syllables
and disciples
the sound
of spilling prayers
and seed bibles


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