December 9, 2012

poem 450 of a poem a day for 2012

hunger in tattered sail cloth

we clutch what matters
when Winter’s coming
and the pantry is bare
we listen to the wind
we find moss
we curl in
we do our best   
to breathe in slow
elliptical cycles
every radio can hear
so when necessity
is throat-ing the air
we are less caught
in coal birthed exhaust
and more strung
to the cold hangs
of cirrus clouds
painting perfect chords
weather-vaning directions
scratching grooves
into collective memory
bending magnetic
needle heads

and humming
ghosts in the FM
know the tunes
of old songs
that everyone
as these
play on
each of us
to join in


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