December 5, 2012

poem 442 of a poem a day for 2012

painting by Van Arno ©

tar baby rapture

it was Summer
the concrete and brick row housed
apartment buildings sweltered
when July came a-calling
I remember walking
to the public pool
knowing there was
this old house
with a basement
single cell predecessor
to the modern
convenient store, along the way

walking there, I smilingly knew
I would be reaching
into the penny candy
remembering this one time
when a pack of messiahs
said they could not find me
inside the maze
of my electrical guide wired thoughts
even the preacher in the rafters
hanging pictures of bearded robed men
and going after the holographic gold
in the empty pockets
of my heavy carbon dusted robust soul
could not find where my mind was at

I used to think that divine love
was all sweet and perfect heart-ed
that it was all about
a map-less compass assured-ness
dressed in Sunday’s best
I realized all too soon
mouth full of sugar, that
monsters, inside and out
can come calling too
especially, when we are young
and ready to swoon

now I just feel love
is only for the lucky
and those willing to die
those willing to sacrifice
with subterfuge
because something tells me
even on this odd December day
as the warm weather is surrendering
back to the rakishly windy cold again
I could peel every
thick layer of scarred skin
char my bones to charcoal
I could raise my hands
palm the sky
say with a wink
oh love will thou 
rain down me
I need not know why
the water turns
a thick and black licorice whip
spit out to where my blood stays
a sweet immature iron
pining for the kind 
of metal birth
that fire looks to forge
into something a bit more
than a handful of candied memories
in a small brown paper bag
when love did not seem so much
a definable position instead of it
being an entirety of side stepping
to heaven in a soul’s slow stuck perdition


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