poetomachia

whole heart
not just heart of hearts
the god
not just god of gods
life full
of compromise and reprieve
honest
all things always at odds

sleep too thick in your eyes
words that catch in the throat
a harsh word or a turn of
the face that gets my goat

maybe i’m not down but i’m out
caught here for all these days
i hold myself, back from the edge
almost comfortable in the shadows and haze

dazzling here amongst the trees
could you stand about, shuffle in
the needles and hold me in your smile awhile
i’ve decided to stay and keep wafflin’

let it begin inside where the fire
can’t be measured, heard, felt or sought
always ready to explode but never
the fury of the sun has come to naught

recognized a train boarded without a ticket
something found in the mouth spit out
trapped beneath these snow sheds and tunnels
could you be my passage out

i saw you on the bridge
and i loved you as the way
i recognized you at the well
and my thirst passed away

lying beneath the quiet clouds
steaming lightly away from directed thought
shadows at the edge the mind is light
freshly woven, lying lightly, within grasped

the thought to seize is enough to
put to flight, even unto itself a fabric
put to rest the desire to capture
control is the key by which this sewn

free by creation and intention
held by conception, shattered with holding life

shuffling through the morning rain
wax in pocket, something to protect
cover me, shield me from pain
braces twist to pull prevent reject

i walked in beneath his wings
and i dreamed the pain didn’t hurt anymore
there was a time when i thought
wings were all that was required to soar

sealed up tight behind plaster and lathe
safe from the rain and hurricane
i’m no poe, i’m no plath
casting about for rhyme crime or metaphor
worth a chuckle, maybe a laugh
bare my soul, fill my hole
carry words bound and float my raft

i travel these streets, these buses, trains
lunch in hand, and a child’s trainers
a notebook and broken pen, breast pocket
shy to express the thoughts of a no brainer

underpass full of talk, highway full of rumor
join us in our descent complete and profane
and all our words hollow as our hearts are made to feel
we can heal and grow far beyond simply maintain

It’s not about getting into heaven
It’s not about Holier than the next guy
It’s not about keeping the boss off my back

I’m waiting for the next piece to fall into place
Sometimes I try to shake it from the sky
But it’s not about that

every birthday present a broken promise

the cold air bites and gnaws at my breath
chilling my hands and numbing my toes
as if not journaling my troubles
will disappear, can I call them foes?