The Broad Shouldered Metal / Justin Patrick Moore

The best poems are the ones you have to wake up and dream
catch like lightning before the tree is scorched.
We lift ourselves up to meet the fire,
we crawl through caves, sewers, and drainpipes
in a search for ancient gold.

The gold is there, sometimes covered
in blankets of filth
the remorse of unremembered things,
the deliberately rejected.
Sometimes this broad shouldered metal
was absent mindedly dropped
a fragment forgotten, covered by debris.

In the middle of the night
when the heart leaps like a stag into Other Worlds
and the poetry of sleep is causing such a commotion
you must rise up and take on the mantle
given to you by gods and beasts
cried to you by children who haven't forgotten how to see,
the worlds most playful things.

Carry these poems into the world
parcel them up with great care
package them for your friends,
gifts to be unwrapped
meanings to be tapped
soul to be strengthened.

No narrow shoulders on these country lanes
even if the road is only dirt and gravel
a poem is a traveler bridging two horizons
a poem unravels expectations of the possible.

An untouchable street urchin
marries high above his station
by reaching into a magic hat
to pull out rabbits, scrimshaws,
goose feather quills and bottles of ink.

He knows the power of association
he combines letters to make spells of quantum entanglement
making the entire world his mistress
every flower his lover
every pigeon his child.
And words are his garden nurtured by sunlight
drawn up under moonlight
to sing songs of passion
at the soup kitchen potlatch
and songs of compassion
in the high kings hall.

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