Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Feel the Thrum

Been getting more into poetry. Oh no, I'm turning into one of *those* bloggers. Ugh. Anyway, here it is. It's called "Feel the Thrum."

Feel the deep thrum of a bass guitar.
Let it shake you at the atomic level;
Too subtle to truly feel, but instinctual.
It is enough to know it is there,
Like the sudden brief flare of heat in a lover’s chest
When triggered by the thought of their beloved’s caress.
I still don’t quite know what that is.

Let rest the swift powerful machete swipes that clear away
All the little what-nots and by-the-bys
That fill the dozey spaces between wake-up calls.
Set aside the gas tank and the matchbook;
Destruction for its own sake is perhaps
Mankind’s idea of donning the robe of the Grim Reaper,
By holding the key to the life force behind an
Intact windowpane,
Or deciding the fate of an as yet unsalted slug.

Pause, instead, to fill and expand your lungs to the brim,
Past all enduring,
Until your ribcage pushes out against the walls of your house
To make way for your home.
Live knowing you are alive,
That you are at all.

Now listen up, because that was the easy part.
Look around you, past brick and mortar and lumber;
See only those others that are like you,
And like me, and him and her and them and all.
Did you look? Did you see their faces?
Of course not.
If you had, your gaze would bend to the shape of the earth.
And even if you could, that does not account for
The time that would amass between start and finish.
No one is willing to pencil that kind of compassion into a planner.
No one I know, or you know, or anyone those people know.

Let fly the blinds on your bedroom window,
Allowing the lights of the souls of men set fire to your mind,
Scarring your retinas so you can never look away again.
What? Does that not sound like a good idea to you?
No, not to me either.
Good, then. We’ll all stay hidden away
In our sturdy stoic fortresses of stone.
Safe, safe, alone.