Regenerate

“Our poet” --
claim him for us
For our misaligned, misunderstood, miserable and beautifully hopeful
picture-postcard-moment-in time generation
For our off-kilter memory of eyes
mirroring heat stroke desperation for more.

He’s ours
Infinite sensation of vision
never again ring so true
a fragmented snapshot
in death
like all great art
(a spontaneous smile)
reflect something past and gone
tint memory, readjust history,
resonant in its moment of creation.

Our poet sings
last poet of the 20th Century
last hurrah, love drenched farewell
last shot, near-empty clip
last bloody insurrection of tender yearning
his words float over nostalgic crowd,
smoke haze
up concrete steps through ears
directly into aging heart.
Capillaries flex, adrenaline rush, instant recall
memory to myth
front lawn tears, bottom lip seduction, raised on elbows of night’s shadow
under darkened night light floorboard glow
huddled over book of words.
Look of swords
sung to you
as teacher to open-eared student
as lover to open-pored possibility sponge
as singer to song
you sing along
unafraid to expose your unknown voice,
voice of showers
voice of long car ride solitude
early morning greet-the-day
late night prayer.
Your voice saved for me at that instant
which in another of its masks
teaches frailty of words
language as naïve, manipulative tool
language weapon
words as healing talisman of illusion
daily poesy, dream grasp fulfillment
balm cures woes
the wind up and the pitch.

Catch them on the air this night
Catch them, hold them inside tight
entwined, all dusty ancient words
shared history
pull essence from their outward form
peel the me from the it,
for the you
unwrap the purity, surround heart with intention.
Catch my words through his.

On the air
This night
gather your memories and stir.