September 28, 2019

• fallen leaves

  

  poetry is
  more seductive than
  pornography
  and more  dangerous

  it dances in tunnels
  in veins
  and bone marrow

  crippled, it cries
  that any awkward step
  will do

  and for those whose hearts
  are gentle          and deformed
  it holds the limbs
  of limping sounds

  where there's a wall
  poetry
  cuts a gate
  opens a door
  or sets a ladder
  there are methods  of torture
  you will never recognize
  as you give up your maps
  of underground passages
  where all your treasure lies

  there are words that whisper
  like crumbling bricks

  birds  carrying messages
  taped to their feet
  and slow light, filtered
  through cheap sacking on the windows

  poetry is
  an emptiness to hold pain
  like the vacancy
  of a wide-open prairie
  where the wind blows
  carrying away   your
  lost tickets   to the dance

  you watch your life
  from the outside
  see your shoes
  gather dust
  beneath
  your
  bed

  poetry is
  an eternal autumn
  you can never rake up
  all the falling leaves
  that settle
  in the creases of your heart

  • 6:04 am
  • Comments Off