here we go
all the people make the sparks
with ink and water railing
wailing soft as we can blare
we’re spinning fast and flailing
people decompose with love
everything we make is heat
believing that we might be warm
we burn our skin
and smell the meat
all our paintings, all these poems
photos, songs, and artful groans
tapes and logs, and stapled tomes
smoke that’s cooking our own homes
it’s all we weep, our glowing wake
we heave it when we sigh
all we are is all we make
saline across the sky
warm and red on cold and black
we leave our steaming trails
you and me are comets we
are comets with streaming tails
this is reposted from [nov 2003](https://web.archive.org/web/20071122081121/http://www.poetrycritical.net/read/3794/).
this poem was in the PC top ten for a long time, and it’s one of my favorites as well. today on christmas eve eve, i dedicate this poem to donald, a good man who warmly applied his presence for good, before profit. donald made poetry a bigger thing in the world than it was before PC. poetry is a way of being. i didn’t really know that before [email protected] without donald this poem would not have been written. thank you donald for spreading yourself here along our paths.
One of my favorites from back in the day. Such a wonderful piece
I had this printed out and blu tacked to my closet door for almost a decade until I moved out of my family home. I can still just about recite it from memory. There were times through the years I thought about getting in touch to ask for a copy of this, and here it is. Merry Christmas to us all.
good to read this again.
🖖🏻👽🤟🏻
I thought this sounded familiar. Still as poignant as ever.