December 24, 2013

what yule remember...

Photo by Alex Hyde ©

Jacob Marley gasping this midnight’s approach of the torch born

the air alone
is not enough
oxygen is for hunger
burning fermentations
lamentations are for the coven leery

dulled senses
lemming and wildebeest singularties
this is how we lie
in storyboard forms
soft to hard
drinking western lean
we are
the skin of things
pock mark ellipses
we are
mythology’s surrender
neatly adjourned
we are
an out of view sanctity

divinity is
art is
all of our expressions
what we often are
our scent test variations
what is not trusted or talked about
what we keep adding to the tales
what we weave conveniences in
what we intended to say
as if we were angels
waiting on line
for rationed gasoline

cocktail napkin truth
and dirty cloth cleaning

we are waiting
for the spark
the “hey, where is my innocence,
where is my profit
for keeping hold
of a humanity
that is an endless hunger ”

hope junkies
pray for gifts

tree peddlers
chime between stoplights
and shop closing traffic
firs might be the easiest way
to fleece to monotheists
not once did they question
why time folds in on itself

this year is the same death
the same womb to birth
the same slow words
and exhales
poems that say
we are old glass
and tidings
we are regales
we are
what we steal
away into

chorus begging
give us bread
we are bodiless
quench our thirst
with why life bleeds
give us thrive
despite our ritual adhesion
to coercion, rags,
sharp sticks and scars

the basement is full
of creep, paced velvet and hide
the roof is fine
I say to myself
angels desire
to be human
humans desire
to be more
of something elemental
or fundamental
infinite desire
immortal molecular strange wires
a sound sent silently smiled
an abyss leapt

wishes real when dreaming
where we went looking
catching reflections
time and
bone cages
sage weed worn
with haint names,
robes and archetypal crowns
three kings and something
we know
when we let our soul
drive the bus

Pan at the overlook
says feel how
we careen
and seem an endless variety
of pride versus humility
we are
the quiet fertile smells
the cycle complete
the neatly arrayed
cookies, milk
and hung laundry


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