The form of this poem is simple; I just increased the number of syllables in a line by one per line. Kind of a lazy form. The sense of swelling and building looks better in my moleskine.
Who Cares About Apathy Anyway? 9/7/12
that
my heart
would feel this
world so that
a blood-red siren
would grip, grind, rip my heart
bird song stitch it whole again
that the tides and summer storms would
wash my marrow with electric salt
so I can taste, smell, breathe all else in me
stand in wonder more (and more) at an engine
or an iPhone or an ant's exoskeleton
whisper to the night for fear of breaking it (or me)
and scream my footprint pattern into every stretch of soil
and so grow callouses beneath instead of upon my tongue
to grip the bitterness and savor the sweet agony of joy
and to found my bound into the thick wind's exhalation all around
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