Lazily I wander around the busy streets
Staring in the eye the man with no feet
I understand that I’m not the only one
With the last of my kind waved goodbye long ago
Perhaps I’ll meet again
With the uninterrupted bastards of the sea
The regular people
Dangling with toes getting cold
Legs running out of peace and happiness
Mind settling into my eyes of change
Distraction falling into the bottle
Memories flashing into the eye
And I, with my hands of change
Wander further into the day
Month: May 2012
Empty Pints (day 362)
Random offerings
Pass up another
Attempt of civility
Perhaps better
Than humility
But never
Never better
Than camaraderie
Another empty pint
(This one goes out to the girl with the bright pink hair, jacket, and guitar who shared a story with me)
Kiria (day 361)
Kiria with your pink
You’ve bellowed out the masses
You’ve stunned the level works
And believed in yourself
Fired off the bullocks
Left the confused unconfused
Been portrayed as a monster
Been stuffed into boxes
Been forgotten at the end
And revived with a passion
Perhaps we’ll forgive you
For the destruction tonight
Perhaps we’ll remember
The confused band left behind
Perhaps this Peroni
With leaves like a Greek
Shall lead you your way
Into the forgotten labyrinth
Nobbin (day 360)
Parables
Floating through the air
Fishing out the last
Remains of indiscriminate bastards
Fuck the loose mentality
That we’re all ok
Fuck the smart girl
She has never worn dignity
Like the whore walking Main
Swim the mighty canal
Float the gnarly seas
Figure the angels wings
As they cloud your sober mind
Unlike the hairy bastard
Who prances around like the fool
Fuck the merry longfellow
When he turns around to glance a blow
Then the tulips that have been stolen
From the figured lands of the holy
They’ve been tainted like a bastards tongue
Of the King’s royal litter
But the holy men that haven’t kissed me
Shall linger by their pole
The wine toting maidens
Shall throw eyes my way once more
It’s business as usual
Down at the Hawley; torn and blown
I’m not here to pull on your
Thunder you’ve bloated with
I’m not going to steal what matters
To your lambs and whithered tongues
I’ve left your silly buggers
To dance your awkward dance
So hug your merry bastards
Lay your fingers down
I’ve left your countenance long
I’ve let you pull your fingers as you may
Don’t whip your hair
Your greasy hair
I’ve worn your stripes
I’ve calmed your mare
Nobbin, bloody nobbin
Squirrel (day 359)
Do you know what it means
Little squirrel in the trees
To be wild and free?
Have you spent your life living
As an unburdened thing
Roaming around the farthing?
Well, I know I try
I give and I ply
Still I head to the bottle for some rye
I bid you farewell
Little man; enchanted as a spell
May we meet again and live tell
Voices of the Bird (day 358)
If only I could recognize
The many voices of the bird
The many dialects of our winged little friends
I think had I the power
To communicate with the breeds
I’d learn many things indeed
But this is my destiny
Be it as it may
I shall sit here today
Enjoying how they sing to my soul
Atop This Hill (day 357)
I’m not alone on this hill
Of which I sit atop here today
No, I’m joined by a few
Estranged souls come to view
One of which that has hair
The fiery red of the devil
Another with hair of an angel
A third who has hair
So dark that it shines
Against the pale blue
Above here today
That man over there
With wild hair and a beard
Perhaps intends to imitate
Orwell in his form!
Ah what a day
What a glorious day
Alive here in London
And these trees
I can hear in the distance
Children playing and laughing
As if school weren’t still in session
Perhaps it’s the day
Where all go out to play
Giving teachers a moment to relax
…side note: I should have brought corn nuts with me up here…
Orwell (day 356)
Today I do roam where Orwell has roamed
I sit upon a bench he did use
Perhaps with a breath
And a length of my hair
I shall hope to hear what he says
For then, in the end
With the hopes of my wind
I could find myself content
In his shoes
But had I not found
The peace he once did feel
Then I too would fall in a heap
So pretend for a while
As I am at this hour
That I sit in a place
He once sat
Mother (day 355)
Your honesty is overwhelming when you walk away like that
Here I am pouting, you talk on your phone
Clearly I’m demanding attention from you, mom
Clearly you’re not interested, lame bastard I am
These marks on my being will forever be scarred
I cannot forget them, ingrained in my conscience
I will grow old and remember with contempt and disdain
Perhaps not this moment, but many like it will come
Mother, please help me
I need your kind patience
Help me to find it
What will make me a man
Then in my pastime
When idle and old
I’ll remember you fondly
As a good mother should be
From Without Within (day 354)
I have been watching myself crawl around these corners as of late, from the mirrors encircling this room that I lay upon
I quite enjoy the serenity of observing oneself from within the landscape of ones own charm
It’s like a close encounter with another, a feature that has never quite grown old and continues to grow
Comfort like a curve that has yet to be populated with the distinction of hair
These mirrors are not cracked at all, nor do I plan to crack them
Perhaps I grow old and shed my find cloak like the snake that glows
But I shall not tire of watching the curves of my eyebrows race their way south
Into the depths of my ear lobes and further towards my nose
I shall not grow weary of the assembly gathered upon my chest
Some of them curly, lots of them old crow
I don’t believe in alterations of the plastic kind
Those which require surgeons to enhance what doesn’t seem to exist
This is a modern folly, of which I am not victim
Perhaps it would be better I didn’t voice my opinion
I as my master do conquer what I’m made of
I listen to its lurches, I succumb to its will
I help it move forward and feed it more fuel
Today I have explored from without and within