December 7, 2012

poem 446 of a poem a day for 2012

photograph by John Glenn aka crowolf ©

dream every living thing is a connected ball of twine

whisper parted legerdemain
some great road side attraction
like it was always yesteryear
every moment thereafter
you came along
dust bowl era lens
rumble seat wooden spokes
and the invincibility
of western expansion
stinging chorus after chorus
with fertilized melodies
of plant anything
and it will grow
this rich land
mile after mile
a sway with few trees
as far as eyes could see
has the wind as
a constant companion

behind the signs
past the bright
enamel come-on
you could tell the land
did not want you to smell
what had transpired
how transportation
destined this land
to have always
wanted to be
cut up and raped
how this great open land
had not always meant
to have this hard scrabbled
prairie grass scratching
and clawing tenaciously
holding onto a real slow
beautiful part of time
how this land
had not always wanted
to hold itself so close
to a spasmodic gasp
when the last
of what it could feel
of itself was peeled off 
and sold as
some sort of vanity 
a zombie addiction
disguised as 
pathway angles 
waiting while
playing haute couture
from the songbooks

with a calculus logic
of pure infidel desire
shiny gather worship
is bill-boarded across
every field, hollow,
mountain glen,
flood marsh
and plain
a brand
and interspersed
throughout this domain
with pounded dirt
oil spit greasy poles
all strung in swooping
wired connectivity
telegraph, telephone
electrical bones
seeking flesh
for constant movement
for scatter frenzy
for the collection agents
with fine mesh

seems near noon
but clouds and haze
leaves a sepia glaze
willing blindness
I close my eyes
feeling sucked in
tunneling indefatigable
in the painted lies
I am lining
the poems with
drawing down
outside empty
inside almost there
do I ride dare
open my eyes
when the bumpy slide
comes to a stop
do I swear off
what’s left
of my humanity
to pay for this ride


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