posturepedic poem aid

every poet has a posture.
my old one consisted of
photographs, empty wine bottles
on the kitchen window sill
decanting the late afternoon
sunset with me smoking
in the emerald light,
reaching for something
beyond the paltry notions
of morality and dogma.

now my posture is poor;
i drive around in motorcars
and flick embers onto
my pants with a stupid smile
that seems to say "Who me?
Alive? Well, ok..."
and even this is difficult
to believe, this like
everything else.

i used to imagine a swath
of wings called beyond my back
like something almost divine
but really more falling into
the category of a prophetic
birthrite; in essence,
"This is who you are,
now claim it." That
was another one of my old
poses, me trying to claim
me when others were claiming
others and lovers named
themselves after certain
tricks of the eye,
like slight of hand
or saw the woman in half
and watch her smile.

But who is to say what poses
are appropos (to use another pose)
and which are invalid?
I mean
you must pose in certain contortions
when trying to obtain a home loan
or when trying to get your belongings
out of the house because of foreclosure,
you stand thin as a reed in the wind
with a certain nervous dignity
and make timid jokes.
Yes or no, we hear, and so it goes
based on this pathetic pose
this insipid poesy
and our affected prose.