January 12, 2013

another barrel fire poem...

photo found here at this link , no attributable author found

huddling around barrel fires

someone has found
an old desk in the alley
it was easy pickings
left more drinking
to the rest of us
more time
to be ourselves
we were warm
and wry for a few hours
a few blocks
from the soup kitchen

we broke it up
flat pieces propped
against the wall
at 45 degrees
we each stomped
on a piece
just to fit it in
a small iron circle
that glowed
green sabers
catching the edge
of flames at first
in an acrid lacquer
burning the smoke
black onto our hands
that seem not to mind
this tether to survive

I kept, the extra piece of bread
I had asked for when I was
at the near end of the line
pure hunger in my inflection
as I hated to beg, having to
as I felt the insurrection
of my stomach, prodding
me otherwise

when I lost faith in god
my mind became
the curious jubilation
of a child
it was meant to be

as I lose faith
in my humanity
my soul is becoming
a constant condemnation
of everything I see

even when I close my eyes
my dreams are infected
too many rats
in the cages I think
how will we feed us all
how do we stay yoked
to the fiery embrace
thirsty for life
how do we get past
sold heartbeats,
promissory notes,
certainties of slavery
and the slow routes
of becoming
foraging outcasts
carrying little
faded memories
everywhere we gather


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