poem 430 of a poem a day for 2012

in November’s Sears Roebuck

scattering bites against my bare skin

the wind digs in and reveals

just how raw I am

when long nights come

casting thoughts

candying jars

wax sealing and waiting

for that one moment

desire turns me loose

pointing out the bridge

from thin air to warm hands

reaching with bent knuckles

preaching subtle to brute force and

the application of free will

outside my small window 

tiny flurries carve a brief chaos

onto the ghost grey asphalt

squeezing the warmth

of rubber tires 

meeting need and road

the consumption 

of plastic embryos

is in the whirring 

these installment plans 

these constitutional humanities

these paper waved hollow emotions

are where sounds go 

they are something

I used to make freely

when I didn't kiss

so many rings

inside every corral

I close my eyes now 

to smell the way 

things have become 

toothless-mutters 

about time

any right now

even this one

is only the exact moment

that an idea 

like the wind 

can bite you

the true keys to being

outside the body’s constraints

are in the kites and

they have been relegated

to every slight-of-hand and 

subsequent parlor trick 

methodology of faith

and they can only be

circumvented by 

a mind’s eye

they are only

what you can 

still capture

lying down 

behind bars

next to a table

piled high

with catalogs 

of distraction

coupons for every

body part

you may 

still have

that can move

a dream

EJR ©