Poem-A-Day: Day 147

A Series of Tubes

A hole in the shape of a brain,
where a brain used to be
playing violin thoughts
out through cavernous ears,
ocular cavities,
nostrils, mouth with teeth,
face shaped like any other;
a present in an empty yard…
connected…
the gaping madness is connected
through some brittle tubing,
plastic medical tubing limp and flexible,
meeting other tubes in consortium,
in the middle, a bowl of rubber spaghetti
moving like snakes over one another,
moving in a slow tumultuous rumble
over one another, sexual and boring
fleshy wants and needs groaning
and bellowing like smoke from tubes,
cylinder cement tubes that cough smoke
into blue skies, clouding blue skies,
and darkening the blue skies with smoke,
billowing, churning like cement
in a twirling bulbous mixing bowl,
wet ebbs before being able to dry hard,
rock hard, cement hard, tubes,
cement cylinder tubes that stretch
down to the earth from the heart,
the earth and heart
are not so different,
the earth and heart
are only switched
by a one letter mistake,
the one letter leaves
but comes back,
in the end it comes back,
the letters
always come back,
forming tubes
and similar shapes,
snakes and noodles,
human features
and silhouettes
rumbling across
horizons of the earth,
rumbling across
verandas of the heart
till the words can’t stand,
the words can’t stand
unless they have a solid foot,
a foot that stands as the foundation
dug deep, deep within the peat moss.