January 13, 2011
-
Bronchi, Will I?
with furious fury
the tides crack the back
it hacks into the subconscious
the lungs lunge for the stare of the shorelines
each bronchi wanting to survive for more time
collectively
deceptively
they are straining for the main line
each crying out like the mime on the corner
with millions of their tiny fingers
trying to escape the chest cavity
sensing the doom of a subservient sunrise
its hand rising into the sky like a phoenix
do these words truly mean it
have they truly seen it
to say what they say
do what they may
the fury of the fist segues to a new day
it's computerized and gray
with the blinking lights of the stars like
they are in on some telepathic information
the morse code from the neural nodes
emanating from
the criss cross patterns of the strands of yarn
decorating the sky
do they do know harm
do they do no harm
are these arms only sore from the chore
to know a new day
of reaching out to
the sand, to say
take hold, please take hold
bring me up and into the future
like atomic particles bubbling at the beginning
submersed in the undertow
of the unknown
the knees are wilted
no more days left to grow as
the flowers of youth long suffocated mow
the free from the forest pleas
to purge and purge with the
surge of electricity for infinity
in infamy, will i call out
will i be the call of the seagulls or
am i the possessed quality of a younger mind, or
am i the obsessed & faulty of the religious signs, or
am i the regressed faculty of the memory's time
waits for no man
from the diapers to the rusty bed pan, or
am i lost in a sea of plastics and cans
trying to scrub clean so as to touch the
holy majesty of the Earth's broken shores
i cannot be what I am and still be demure
i cannot dream who i am and tabulate a score
i can feel my body is lifeless
it is drifting, i can only yearn for love like
i want to be saved on the shores
open my eyes
and see the presentation of the sunrise
lay there
just be alive.