Drawing the First Line

Pull slowly from its thin cell
the ghost of everything and nothing:
A dignified face of virgin snow
helplessly waiting for a plow to soil it.

Laid upon table as offering
spread the rag smooth along the border.
Corners clamped with suppressive care,
its pure color glares indignation.

From the cache choose certainly.
Prodding finger shunts them
back and forth; their hollow jingles
pledge allegiance.

Wield the shank dulled by sacrifice,
and grind back its sharp vigor:
scrape flesh
from bone
reveal
its soul.
Another couple of twists, firm yet forgiving,
a quick burst of air to shed its tears.

Woven through fingers with feathery grace,
gently brush love’s airs
as a spring breeze persuading prairie grass,
wisps less caution strewn.

Yet with unshaken faith
crisp edge cut again n’ again
on its face breaks of black
shards exact n’ crisp.

the bottle of merlot begins to have its perscribed effect. looking for some productive distraction i thought it might be fitting to begin posting some of my poems.
thus far the topics and format range and i am engaged in the search for a new topic. i am leaning toward the current state of our (as in society or at least the culture i am imersed) 'priorities.' perhaps priorities might be too strong. the manner in which i determine what is important to "us" is the dedication and allocation of the things we value. now, the whole argument may be knocked out if you contest what is valued, but let's not do that, i'm still new at this.

i think all of this is beginning to fester again while i waited in line behind who i assumed to be a 'frat' boy purchasing nearly $300 of alcohol consisting of cheep vodka and several (7 i think) 30 pack cans of back-wash labeled "natural light." obviously, i'm an elitist because i was purchasing merlot and guiness, but that's not the issue here. while waiting, the constant babble of a 'concerned' and inquisitive news reporter noisily assaulted my ears, intellegence, and social ego. for what seems to be an eternity, at least three days, the media has been obsessed, as they always are, about a drug-addicted, white trash, gold-digging ex-stripper who 'tragically' died in a hotel. when i asked the clerks 'who really cares?' one was quick to answer "i do...i mean.. i care about her baby who will have serious detatchment issues."

are you kidding me. mothers die every day, but where is their story? does this woman represent, is the spokeswoman, for all of those unwritten stories, investigations, and days of non-stop media coverage? hearing in great detail about this woman of a five month old who nobody knows the father of, does this accurately represent all of those mothers we don't hear about? *sigh*

why do we have to hear about her? does it make us feel better about our own lives? does it make for an interesting story, 'cause everybody likes a good story? its about money, because the medial is not about giving information for the sake of information but to make ratings, sell advertisements, and propetuate their own existence. so why does this sell? just another distraction i suppose to what we really have to deal with in and out of our control.