I Feel What I See

author’s note:

As I work on this poem, an army of motorcycles--125,000 strong--rip down the highway only a block from me.

They’ve come to participate in event called “Bikes, Blues, and Barbecue”.

I wish them well...and yet...


TEXTURE

I feel dully nauseous
from the hot asphalt nearly liquified--

my nose hard hit by the scent
of ice cream perspiring
thick sugary dollops
combined with the flat stink
of stale aluminum beer...

by the sun-melt smell
of polymer-based plastic.

I reject the glare
and feel rejected
by the glare,
         the sun glare--
bouncing off everything:
shopping carts, car windows,
chrome--

razor glare reflecting
from shades
that make silver doubles
of a scene
I don’t even want
to see
once.

I feel what I see.

Once we had a world
of textures.  Forward back.
Make mine a car from burlap.
Durable, yet soft enough
to be caring.  Plain brown
but fuzzing the blunt light
in the virtuous net
of its cradling fabric.

I don’t mind the ordinary
as long as it’s not so glossy
or too
metallic smooth.

Feather some of those shark edges.
We have slickness
and edges enough
already.

If you insist on riding a motorcycle
must you imitate
an extended ripping flatulence?
Instead--be bold, be daring:
let it sing like a silk maiden!

Don’t be afraid
of the lady--
even the Vikings sang
of her grace
when in their cups
they gently rocked.

I have seen the danger
of our negligence;
still, I don’t give up hope--

I believe that someday
when we finally stop
cutting ourselves
we’ll bury all those
razor flowers
under the mountain
that beats plastic
back into mineral

then once we’ve atoned
maybe everything
we have killed
with our numbing glare
will bloom again.
I pray.

© 2009, Michael R. Patton
earnest audio
new steps