April 4, 2013

NaPoWriMo 2013 # 4...

photo by Brent Moore © via SeeMidTN.com

stealing the river of art in every conversation

convenience stores
nail neon light
over the crept shadows
of early morning
there are many things
in here worthy of my palm
but it is the conversations
or lack thereof that turns
me toward picking up
the fallen pieces
of other people’s blues

every poem I write
is a painting
of someone else dancing
an installation
or imitation, I myself
see me doing
the commemoration
of how time stops to see
how any one moment can hold me
a snow globe captured fluid stasis
one line, one brushstroke
one pirouette at a time
every calendar has a day
worn with an instrumentality
of something that has happened
or so I think, as possibility
reigns over every day
in the shaken world
artists will wait, in line
like most folks often do
for someone else
to break their
emergency glass

I always want
to lift my head
when pinned down
pointing it toward
where I think
the stored parts
of my humanity
are hidden again

sometimes it’s in another bag of money
sometimes it’s in the slow fuse of my will
the burning holes in my pockets
the vesper trailing exit careens
jilted single note melodies playing off
each other through the old wooden door
its painted enamel metal signs
loosening in thwacks propelled
by the heavy-duty spring load closure

I stand aside and listen
each time the door bellows
little poems, little songs
little lamentations and salutations
little dips and defers
as the customers
come and go
each with different sets of eyes
different articulated desires
to be somewhere else
we always want
to be somewhere else
while loading up on caffeine
to work another day
in the mine that is
keeping yourself in
the framed blues
of America


No comments:

Post a Comment