NaPoMo 2013 Week 1
formulates meaning in
Like what we feel at
the sight of grand cathedrals—
fossilizing dying customs.
like if these words were commissioned,
i'd use them to hang the pope from the only spot
and now that i can write outside of sacraments,
these words might mean something
Rain on asphalt,
Smeared by the glow of streetlights—
Piles on like endless stacks of gold.
Honing in on this scene is like watching Mother Nature glitch,
Ignoring all itch
And this is all a puddle
mother nature tears apart the sheets of clouds
and lets her torch drop
and its little embers take over the sky.
its said that it will all be back again;
that the moon is just a steward for the sun
and it comes and goes like sorrow
but i decide if tomorrow comes
every time i close my eyes and let it.
You wouldn’t care if I said that I cry myself to sleep every night
Because this isn’t a diary,
And I’ve run out of ways to describe the rain
a mantra of “I don’t care”.
It almost feels sacrificial
how I bleed out over soil
hoping for rains to fall and seeds to sprout.
But I only flatter your divine vanity
with my efforts… Vedic at best.
So I’ll reform and grow;
detach myself from you
so that you can play this game again
in another body.