Poem With a Backbone In It
I want to celebrate the person who says
what everyone else is thinking
the person who knows thoughts are not Gregorian chants
or mint leaves sweetened with lime frost
even if it strikes the piñata of polite conversation
until truth hailstones to the floor
even if it sounds like crows flapping their wings
inside the hollow of a bell tower.
I want to celebrate the person who pours water
over tombstones so the souls of the dead are not thirsty
the person whose mind tracks the natural curve of the spine
anything else is artifice or disease
a scoliosis of the brain.
Forgive the Rest
The arch of a foot
is a crescent moon
the toes are piano keys
the most important five notes
for a walking song.
But let's not stop there.
Have you seen your knees lately?
Those bending ice capped
balls of ice cream
that put the cool in your I am.
And what about your hips?
That bowl of dark red apples.
Without this hinge, we'd forget
to lower the ego and bow.
I arrive at the heart--
a power grid that decides
when the lights burn out.
Even the riotous brain must defer.
The tongue and its penchant for pleasure
If the last beat is a good one
you'll forgive the rest.