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occasions

Recorded for Poem-a-Day, June 7, 2017.
About this Poem 

“This is a poem I dedicate to the great Margaret Randall and it was written from a ritual I did where I studied pollinators, especially the sphinx moth, pollinating cherry blossoms in Marfa, Texas. After a sphinx moth or bee pollinated a blossom I would pluck it and let it dissolve on my tongue while writing.”
—CAConrad

Leave Something Quiet in Shell of My Ear

                                          unfastened
                                    in the backseat a
                             portion of our music is
                          mucus flying into stillness
                          at what point do we submit
                           to the authority of flowers
                          at what point after it enters
                   the mouth is it no longer in the
                  mouth but the throat the colon
making sumptuous death of the world
  this is what crossing the line gains
                 no need to pretend we
                     are the people we
                           want to be in
                            the next life
                             bone under
                          tongue drives
             taste of snow to metal
        sorry I threw up at your wedding
     it wasn’t from drinking it was from
thinking on mountain all night waking
      tangled in spirits of morning light
            our planet floats on emptiness
                         the undisclosed mirror
                                       held to flame
                                      pushed it into
                                      a pile of ash
                                      a trail of ash
                                         leading us
                                         toe to toe
                                       with wild sides
                                     what’s emerging is
                                       a grip we’ve been
                                     reaching for please
                                       grab hold with us

Copyright © 2017 by CAConrad. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 7, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

Copyright © 2017 by CAConrad. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 7, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

CAConrad

CAConrad

Born on January 1, 1966, CAConrad describes himself as "the son of white trash asphyxiation whose childhood included selling cut flowers along the highway for his mother and helping her shoplift."

by this poet

poem

                                 
                                  what was it you
                                  wanted us to
                                  say after you died 
it’s awful without you making sound exist
                                you said ponder this

poem

—for Julian Brolaski

Sit outside under shelter of a doorway, pavilion, or umbrella on a park bench, but somewhere outside where you can easily touch, smell, taste, FEEL the storm. Lean your face into the weather, face pointed UP to the sky, stay there for a bit with eyes closed while water fills the wells of

poem
no one knows where I am in the morning and I like that
set my periscope on breath of dreaming tyrants
                                                    heir to a forest
                                              do you mean fortune
      no I mean forest caressing