December 22, 2012

poem 465 of a poem a day for 2012



I pace scented you into a map

no one knows
spiraling graphs
space swirled
pictured memory
sworn by
even high
only drinking
russian vodka

I fly
where angels
lose wings
sniffing vulgarity
inside prices paid
I give away
myself for free
just to see
if to be
something, I am
other than thief

life, lives
worn streets
met means
market places
we race
find faces
fitting ways
we reason life
into perfect boxes
we gift wrap words
and season every lie
we believe in reach
each, a holy regard

we must
divinity says
have enough
to be willing 
to sell relief
buying our treasons
little by little

so you pray
know, I am
a spine strung
hung medieval madness
tortured, splintered voiced
a static dark
always wanting more
than pure fun

I can hear
when you say
what I am
spending bones
setting fires
stringing words
like corpses
and rain

EJR ©

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