Poem-A-Day #312 : Pyrite

Pyrite

Let the record show that we were at least genuine - in some things - that the field of ourselves was sewn with attempts towards beauty

at times it was fallow and covered in snow - and in those times the seeds could relax - they could - wheat rests in ice to grow for early summer - can this not also be true of ourselves

I know the arguments for and against - the sighting of the hawk fighting the raven over the rabbit - there is a wheel that we are tied to

it perpetually takes us under water - rocks us against the spokes - winnows us - separates bone from meat

Field metaphors are about growth and death and cycles - they crop up like weeds in the words of great and lesser poets - they are reserves of water sitting beneath the earth - waiting like oil to be drilled from their ancient tombs

what a beautiful nostalgia - the wide-brimmed farmer aloft his perpetually churning machine - no sign of drought or of hail or early frost here

The lie in that America is obvious to any reader of any book on any subject - even not farming - but the hope in the bread belt - the grains of it a sort of pebble across the water of culture - that is nice to look at to hold to the light and to see ourselves in

does that negate ourselves - make the want of truthiness to be invalid - it at least makes our claims pyrite though no less amazing in their reality

Poem-A-Day #87 : Tomorrow

Tomorrow

Tomorrow the book will be done
Tomorrow I will be handsome
Tomorrow the clothes will fit
Tomorrow the car will stop coughing
Tomorrow everyone will be younger
Tomorrow I will have kisses
Tomorrow the TV will say I love you
Tomorrow money will flow this direction
Tomorrow elections will not matter
Tomorrow the cat will learn a skill
Tomorrow sugar will be healthy
Tomorrow this will all be new
Tomorrow this will all begin again
Tomorrow the feet will know the direction
Tomorrow the world will still embrace me

Poem-A-Day #41 : Pejorism (take 2)

I felt a bit...unhappy with yesterday's poem. So...


Pejorism

Burn this after reading
      and the newsfeed you rode in on
          There is a broken line from Hearst to Huffington Post

      It's a line of black powder

The world is a keg...fuck that's boring
          unusually cliched in the most obvious of ways

How do you talk about how             the world is
                                                 moving
                                    in a always not good direction

The number of planets keeps decreasing
Anger is trending
Here is this dumb planet called Earth floating in the void
      on the edge of the largest black hole
           and all it can think about is boiling itself to death

Poem-A-Day #34 : Quilt for April 2 2016

Quilt for April 2 2016

On the last day of March it begins to snow + it continues into April + that line about black boughs + cruelty echoes across the New Mexico landscape like a dirt devil full of tumbleweeds

I ask the woman behind the counter what I want there’s a silence between us that would be hilarious if it wasn’t insane

The pictures of the quilt across the National Mall the largest bed in the universe – rest your head on Lincoln’s lap + stare into the dome of the sky + what sort of dream is there in the circular night sky – is it a mirror of the day that happened or one of the future

Wrap the cloth around you and roll in the grass until everything is covered in green until your skin is stained with life

The week old baby is asleep + I can’t help but wish that the future is better his parents are there and we all kind of nod in agreement – it’s dark + sad + maybe inappropriate but it’s the truest thing that has ever happened

Firmness

Firmness 8/18

Sisyphus is digging his heels into too soft ground

We are watching a slide show of your childhood
            this is the part where you face a past while dancing with a future

Hands at 2 and 10 – 2 and 10 – are you watching that semi
            because it’s coming over here whether you move or not

His shoes are up to the Achilles in mud

You are on a flat plane – the car is in neutral and you are drifting forward

It is a waltz maybe or tango possibly
            but you are young and dancing and hopefilled

The plane is tilting – everything is rolling backwards – the way it all came

It is an orchestra – the fluting is your heartbeat is the sound of drums
            here is the part you realize the movements are endless repeating

He makes it to the top he begins again

Peal

Peal 8/10

There are not enough angels