December 30, 2012

I like big books and I cannot lie...

masturbating, unabridged

I never know what my fingers
are doing when I am grasping
at straws to find poem-needles
in the haystacks
they frenzy on the key taps
into give backs taking slack and
pulling at the taut fantasies
of wealth building schemes and
smalls of the back and
wide hipped leans
into the clay mortar and
broken glass at my foundries and
recycling plants, ideas and images
are the flowers sown by accident
instead of reverence born
from crawling to places
most won’t want to think about
let alone, bend their snout enough
to kiss every place the ground
has gotten to know
everywhere we’ve been and
everywhere we’re going to be
exhaled, moaning our idolatries


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