stonepoem : 365

I know the way.
Every inch and mile
each turn and blur
every waypost sigh,
I know the way.
Yes, I do.
And I know you.
And we both know
it’s time to move.
Lay the landscape bare
unbutton roads -
each lane and every track
open to the journeys
never coming back.
I know the way.
Turn left, turn right
straight over keeping on.
We will have miles
beneath our wheels,
like every breath
that ever was -
like every glancing move
like each wilful lover lost
we will travel on.
I know the way
I really do -
don’t stop, don’t stop
until I say.

Destination.

Just one
more friend
and I am done
and I’ll have more
than you
a compound me
just recently
and heard to say
how good it is
to have such friends
and I’ll be done
and I’ll have more
and I’ll thank all.
Just one more friend,
and they’ll be done -
just like
the other
ones.

Press ‘1′ for feeling
Press ‘2′ for imagination
Press ‘3′ for respect
Press ‘#’ to start again.
Insert this, in that
then key it in.
Forget ink and pen
but remember your PIN
And check everything
you’ve entered…
I must be stupid
(or something)?
The system says
I’m overdue -
cannot continue,
but I know different.
Send me down the chute,
where fall self-serve damned
with fingers trapped and bruised,
digit-split, but humanity intact.
And someone tell those automated folks;
‘Guess what, we are people too’
before all the royal operatives,
become otherwise engaged.
Go on - supposedly they
really value our calls.
I could do it myself
but today, I’m indisposed.
So please, feel free
to leave a message
after the tone.

Here, we are ghosts in the armature
rattling cage and tugging tight the lines.
Like puppets hung in trapeze swing,
with harness pull from wind and spool.
And we are neon birds on tangled toes
with careful steps over charged cathode.
We move from A to B, then on to Z
with plug and play perfundity.
But pull away the wires and
we’ll find the real you and me.

Bless these guys.
It’s almost like
reality is not enough.
Like glass lensed auteurs,
whose life just has to be seen
through mechanical eyes -
selecting and zooming
then editing the view.
No margin for error or surprise
in captured moments held
in satisfied frame,
in control of all they feel.
Neatly filing happiness
with f-stop calibration,
they can’t tell you
how wonderful something is
but they can show you
the photograph.

For the man who pushed my daughter out of the way
with his pumped up lens…

Where are you chickjesus?
Not washed away I hope
by flood of life
and death like dust
on surly breath
over unkind seas.
You once awakened me,
turned driftwood
into useful thoughts
took clay of you and I
and sculpted we.
I hope for you
in the swell
of the cosmos -
are you still looking
for butterfly wings
on the shore?

Wiring crossed and timing slow
Confused and dumb with protocols
Of socketblocks and battery slack
One inch forward - ten feet back.
An odd-sock day of coffee stains
And soapy eyes and missing calls
From breakfast spills on muddy shoes
To milk that turns through needled toes.
A scrabble round for peace of mind
From late return of bills unpaid
To black night search for blue-ink books
And here now lost in overflow
Running, from my worried looks.