Deeper Underground I Go

I can’t count the number  
of poems I’ve expelled  
beyond the busted seams  
of experience  
 
As if those seams could keep  
the poems from my voice  
 
How many emotions  
were galactic tapestries    
unraveling from a solar plexus  
storing so many lives  
 
How many verses reflect  
the present  
versus the ghosts  
of a former century  
 
And yet,  
deeper underground  
I go  
 
The trick to navigating  
the bowels of the beast  
is not succumbing  
to illusion over reality  
 
Digesting one moment  
at a time, with more to follow  
chewed and swallowed  
as a multi-course dinner  
if we're lucky  
 
Just when I feel  
the depth has reached its peak  
Light becomes  
contraband  
and I a smuggler  
in disguise  
 
Breath becomes an anchor  
to those who’ve been buried  
in a circumstantial landslide  
 
Yet,  
deeper underground  
I go  
 
until the pen breaks blood  
 
What good is breath then  
within a rockslide of mud  
 
How many decades  
have been weighed  
by milestones  
gripping hope  
so tightly that fear  
doesn’t have a chance  
to steal away the heart  
 
And,  
deeper underground  
I go  
 
I’ve been told  
I didn’t dream big enough  
my worth measured  
by spoons and opinions  
instead of scales  
and a feather  
 
But I have accomplished  
the biggest dream  
of all—old age  
and good health  
 
How many times  
have I sacrificed—  
protested without provisions  
to sustain my pride  
 
How many years  
have I survived  
and conquered  
the bleeding fists  
and busted seams  
of experience  
regardless of an opponent's  
status or friends  
in high places  
 
And still,  
deeper underground  
I go  
 
refusing to release  
that galactic loom—  
weaving tapestries  
of love and truth  
destined to burst  
and overflow  
 
as if any seam could ever keep  
this poem from my voice  
regardless of what lifetime it is  
 
because
deeper underground
I'll go