December 18, 2013

roasted by the dovetail curl at the small of your back...

yuletide frequency poem

(solstice standing in the doorway)

we heard the wee folk
thought we might be
what’s hidden in clay
found by sluice box fancied
our tongues and silt
the stories we told
when winter comes

the molecule stags
snort and cavort
with disguised

look they exhort
the humans wear the slag
the elephantine hollow
the lineages of wind
we say there are many ways
to cleave death
into a celebration of life

(they will put us in jars
if they are able)

the humans, they co-opt
take stranglehold of fire
as a clean release
they shorten communication
to dull meaning
to please membranes
in a long kelp sway
under the pulse amplification
of the yellow star light spectrum
they cause their blue sky mythologies
to bleed the rain

eat the amanitas
shimmer-cloaked shadows tell us
you’ll have a hit television audience to reap
snow covered pines
with their bent boughs
and stilled voices
know humanity is a ripened strength
of inevitable creep, current, rise, ebb,
finger and knead the pains cycle

(shopping is not hunting)

ring the bell
red kettle army
we are salivated salvations
the cost shares of skeletal burden
the apathy to care soul infirmary
housing the feeding 
of our every desire
we are why
the hearth is hung
with banter in the dark
pieced to the living green
we are why
the steamed glass
the hissing pots
the bubbles and spits
steal words
into songs
that connect us
to something shared
despite an inordinate
amount of differences
in how we see
what life can be
we are why
sitting somewhere
cornering wishes
every I
is a womb
that needs
to start crawling
this time of year
into the trees, seeds
and roots again


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