plebpoet

Eating my days

I'd like to sit down to a feast
Of all the day I have lived,
See them in solid form,
Examine each one by the light,
Note their purities and
Certain imperfections.

To eat my days
Would be an experience
Of time that I can digest
More sensibly than by
Living.

Tasting, consuming, inhaling,
Serve as senses more useful
For knowing than
Being.

Letting my body work to remember
Each morsel of who I was
On any given day - last week, years ago -
Until I've had my fill.

To write a poem

To write a poem
I become solemn,
Serious and still,
Quieting my mind.

Rushing at the door
In my head, pleading to enter
Are feelings I have never felt
And bad metaphors.

I take note of these
Showing them through the house
And out the back door
As quickly as possible, holding my breath
For the guest of honor to arrive.

And when she does,
As we embrace, I'll say
I've missed you and I'm listening.
Truth will take my hand,
Lead me to the bedroom, saying sweet things,
Calming my heart with her touch.

Before we begin
I'll have a final glance
At my reflection in the mirror.
Put my hair in order,
Note the clothes I chose.

My lover responds.
Without a word of protest,
She'll stop removing my clothes,
Retreating as quickly as she came.

My face will grow warm
And Shame, unannounced,
Will break up the party.
There will be silence
In the house I occupy alone,
And a blank page, void of use.

crystal structure analysis

and so a gleaming shape emerges
from a set of rules

a terrifying match of fates
this is how the story goes

what isn't molten into what is

owed to divine transfiguration
out of mythic schema

and so I face myself, go to work
break the rock, eat the fruit

this is my promised life

what is forty years to Moses
what is modernity to molecules

dead dog

I saw a dead dog
on the side of the road
and my breath
turned to ice cubes
sliding down my throat.
further
down the road
a haphazard sign
from its post
on a telephone pole
aimlessly
called out to me,
why?
I smiled my agreement,
having no answer.