NaPoWriMo 2013 # 24

photo by Letizia Argiolu ©

Calabria midnight calling

the weep pull

of the Moon full

is seeping into

my thoughts

vanquish fantasy to wishes

to wants selfish

to selfless

desires haunting me

sand and the smell

of the sea

are at the sill

in rise morning rise

filter soft lime bell

leaves stretched out

scattering the Sun’s angles

over roof tops

early frost is now memory

in what seems

my strangely quiet neighborhood

maybe everyone is still sleeping

maybe the latest and greatest

mass televised fear programming

is working as a thought suppository

and folks are all lost inside themselves

maybe our pomp circumstantial

dance recital vegas routines

sold for our own good

have rationales with infinite wisdom

but they escape me, right now

I feel someone changing my radio channel

everyone talks about

peace and love, white doves

but give me that bird   and

I’ll show you flesh and blood

bone in constant demand

for locomotion, for movement

for swells of migration

deep patterned once

to our memory

we are an ambulatory science now

chained to false democratic principles

shooting at the stars

with worn votes

secret drawn and quartered

town square lottery assemblies

everyone in search of a circle

trying not to become

cornered here

driving train rides, I see white noise sugar factories

maybe, it is just about time

and those moments where I think

I am on to something

maybe, it is only a magic eye

waiting to be slip thirst

somewhere between the cracks

in the sidewalk    and

your rate of blinking

are your eyes dry today

are the particulates in the air

suspending hook and mop

making sure to redden raw

the entry points of light

the stir pot blades of vision

I see sometimes

angels in shadow gleam

sun blind too, part of a warm horde

behind the old trees peeking

from coronal bathes of white prism

the slow excavated hung flowers

of these old barked reaches

are why we grow

are why we are

slow spun wet clay

twisting memory

into thick skin sometimes

what is it

that we do 

when we dream

to stay awake

throughout the day

in a world 

full of distraction

the soul's view master smells of unborn polaroids

most times I am unable

to complete a task

so I retreat

go seeking a seat

where words

find outlets

places to hide

places to plug

into desperation

like the grasses

turned ice lattice

beaded loose

bonded and bowed

to the tides

we all capture

a little round

view of the world

to pocket compass our way

so just maybe

you’re at a window too

right now looking

for where the horizon arcs

into midnight 

telephoning 

your dreams

EJR ©