April 3, 2013

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


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