Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.



Tuesday, February 15, 2011

wind like nothing-

nothing like wind,
breathe yr last breath, baby
say a prayer
upon the unholy night
cradling our mother
and moon
look at me twice, don't say a thing
candlelight flickers
my chest heaves and falters;
the window we sleep under
has openly spoken
mantras of angels
buried miles beneath us

we choke on blood in our dreams
wake up..still breathing

i try and extract from my bones
the insoluble question, that
marrow of life
if only to feed it to the souls
of the dead

the yard to the side
is teeming with desire
to plunge and suck the fruits
of my mothers labors,
i am exhausted from my own
but find no bearing,
i look up to the sun who has been
pulsing and churning,
let the kiss of morning
linger on my cheekbones
and forget my bones
they are nothing but framework
for pulsating eyes
and what can i see from the view
i'm built into?
nothing short
of stages being built from foot up
to sundown holding
the weight of the hours
scattered across it is some script
or the scriptures
written in dust or floating
in a puddle of sweat, mud, and tears;
lost notes, handcrafted into sailboats
reaching for the shore
of unremembered
dreams.

what do i see but
streams of graffitti
unfinished but still
the movement of color
resonating on cold blank
slates of unsustainable
futures.

what is there to kill
now
but one's self?
what is there to kill
now
but this poem?
at the end of It, at the
end of Time, i will try again
to extract my mind
but for now, the kingdom is
withered and waiting
though wait not must we
for the sun to shine
wait not must we
for the sun to shine

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