NaPoWriMo 2013 # 3...

picture by Kenneth Reitz ©

we listen, ready little bell doors

blues sanctioned station houses

cobbled together cable operators

telegrams, candy hearts and shiny paper

spy games color who the fuck we are

are you the voice on the other side

of black rubber-ed reason

the voice that keeps shouting

for tin soldiers to man the entryway

near the furnace, are they

as scared as we are when storms come

wind putting down tree after tree

are we saying jesus and the prophets

are in there too

street cornered to freedom

and deacons rambling on about

cover sandwich board signs

saying the end is always near here

where faith hooks death

before we finish the exhale

we pass by the small crowd

barely listening to the sound

they have gathered around

“…hear ye hear ye do not lay out fully decked

as Winter can still breathe snow in April

bereft of courage this scourge is an urge

to eradicate the birth of grasses

change the Constitution

any common good has chaos lurking

convenience store place-matted to hello

without exposing your kindness too long…”

my friends, the shopkeeper says

as we all walk in

I will measure where 

you end conversations

we are all fucked up enough to drink

the image thinners after I close up  

now pay attention to this speaker

his sermon is ending

looking up

“…reaching the skies, opens maps

refracted light runes most days

bills of hats tipping shadows

we line our pockets with dead men’s faces

water marked graveyards frozen to our skin

you want some, you want to come

and get me my salvation

are we on the ugly stick yet

I’m sick with menial denial

how about you fix me something soft God

with a bolus easy trampled impression

coat check your opinion at the food cart

everything will be smoked until flesh fails

to wrap our intentions adequately

does this get me inside those pearly gates

or will I need to keep speech-ing…”

street corner preacher switch

pimps, private eyes and onlookers

slow down, watch the boxed theater

humankind in constant rewind

ritual circles, salt, water

and everything that simmers

the new one ascends

the soapbox bent

old shoes, worn holes

souls used to be easy to fix

“…what say you with regard to Heaven

do you wait for descending angels

or do you build fires to anoint yourself

oil to feet, slow circular rubs

you want in anything you can for flavor

you stay though, to savor and sip

huddled with hands cupping pottery

glass and broken memory

you taunt yourself into getting up

to walk the coals again

red hot scarification found

instant Troy weighted down

seized port holed views to sell

will you ever be able to tell

each of your Heavens

from each of your Hells”

we pause for a bit

those of us waiting

to drink with the shopkeeper

trying to fit ourselves

into the last sermon’s words

most of us will wait to bleed

later on, with a bit more joy

EJR ©