Today's poem is by J. P. Dancing Bear
I swallow bird songs that do not resurface
if I open my wrists, they will fly out.
I fall into necessity again,
at a gas station, unable to pay
for the fuel, yet yearning for the road.
The attendant balances a pencil
on her nose and talks of the circus returning.
I am flashbulbs of flirtation and shame;
whichever currency is required.
Her register drawer shuts but stays hungry.
A big-lettered sign says not to smoke,
but everywhere there is talk of matches.
In the empurpled desert light
I am an old Buick speeding over a cliff:
seconds of brilliant air singing past my face,
before impact, ignition, my unfurling black
and orange tongue. Oh let me be a song,
a wing of ash escaping from the wreckage.
Copyright © 2003 J. P. Dancing Bear All rights reserved
from Controlled Burn
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Verse Daily's very generous sponsors:
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
Contact Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002, 2003 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002, 2003 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved
[an error occurred while processing this directive]