Wednesday, January 06, 2010

Wastrel Diamond on a Scorching Skillet

author’s note:

Since January 2010 is a blue moon month, I thought it’d be a good time to rewrite this poem.


Is this moon the light I seek?
Reflection: distraction.

The sun provides our bounty
whereas the moon
gives us so much trouble.
The mere sight of its roundness
provokes trouble.

(In the heart, that winter longing--
  moony snow banks blocking
  the reach
  of the beloved.)

I bear the blessings of the moon
at the same that I curse its curse.

My feet throb from the uncontrollable
blood dance induced by moon glow.
The moon plucks me, strums me, hums me.
My mind has steamed away--
        a wastrel diamond on a scorching skillet--
I howl with pleasure, smoldering
in the moonlit snow.

As I holy roll
        some anonymous woman--
        stultified by traffic fog--
studies me
in smokey confusion.

My chest swings open like an altar--
presenting to her
pieces of the moon
--little nibbles.

You wren with open beak,
don’t you see?--please
I’m a blackbird moon pie--
a sacrificial offering.

© 2010, Michael R. Patton
earnest audio
new steps

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