Love Steps (day 1029)

What does it take to love you?
What does it mean to hold your heart?
Like a delicate silk perfectly folded
Into five evenly spaced sides
Without creases.

What kind of fingers dance, prance
About sticky honey-buckles?
Long strands of hair into the deepness of my soul.
For forever was a long drive
Straight West into sunset’s romantic heart.

What kind of foot pierces clear waters of a hidden brook?
What does the water taste like
After it drips off your tentative toes
Recoiling into giggles, riddling squirrels
Into silence.

Walking Tall (day 1028)

He walked away and he wasn’t walking tall
He shrouded and hunkered;
Fixed and determined and leaving.
Under one arm was clutched a notebook
Used regularly for scribblings and incidentals,
The other held nothing:
Bare, sober, exposed.
Not waving or weighing, but tucked neatly inside
A warm and worn pocket
Reserved for the odd receipt.
But mostly for his hand, unconsciously scrunched
Into a ball that hardly swayed
As his slouch carried him away.

 

London - 052012 (79 of 302)

Harmonizing (day 1027)

For all that I could remember, for all I could ever remember, for all the times that I dusted off my aching knees to build up my power of love that thrust my gold into the clear blue skies; it was all I was, all I cared to be, all I had dreamed of being, all that was allowed to rest – to be the remnants of some hard played game digging into worn parts of my gloves.

For without these delightful glories (curdling my cream and harmonizing my deep south Presbyterian choir) I was merely a soldier. A hard edged, fine tuned, stainless steel blade of America’s finest earth (plus of course the blood, sweat, and rock hard fists heft my direction). Hardly left a consequence upon my check-marked debriefing.

Here I stood in future’s year, inhaling deep to remember what it felt like laying on the freshly mowed grass in the heat of summer, slow moving cars rolling along manicured gravel. An itch, creeping in and lingering a while as momma’s freshly squeezed – and heavily iced – lemonade tinkled around inside a transparent and sweating summer repair.

But now I wasn’t heading here or there. I wasn’t coming or going. I wasn’t even known amongst the squirrels and bluejays and Chester, the neighbor’s dog, had wilting flowers.

You cannot crush what once lived inside a boy. A man can not fall flat and lie upon his back and let these thoughts turn and turn and turn without the understanding of what has come to pass. Much like Tchaikovsky’s flurrying madness, torrent thoughts arrest my secret moments until the uneven dice with blank looking stares roll the number five five times in a row. To end a second chapter but never ending. Never an end. Never to be ended.

Without knowing then, I was knocking at a door I had left without looking back. A door that still had a mesh pane to keep out the flies. A door that creaked and banged shut no matter how slow it was released. A door that acted as the liaison between country folk and their well meaning manner. A door that punctuated my knocking and brought old – as in aging – footsteps squinted hard to recognize the stranger the stood just on the other side.

Don’t Have to Get Elsewhere (day 1024)

My baby’s the kind of sex
I don’t have to get elsewhere
To her I run and I hide
Inside every desire to me

My baby’s the art of performance
She’s a changing rhythm, time
And I’m right in it
Leading the orchestration

My baby’s the whispering winds
Coming to me at all angles
In the evening hours she whispers
In the daylight hours she screams

Sad Letters at Long Lasts Door (day 1023)

Did my letters long convince your soul
That all was lost amongst our hearts?
Pleasure drained upon the floor
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

Balance shifted which throws me off.
What once was art is burning hearts
To leave me scarred, aghast; true horror.
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

Like laughter in wicked eyes of crows,
It shelters me not, my sorrow cloak.
And fill my heart with dust and sand
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

To wake again my soul at long last,
To deliver my forgiveness upon deaths door.
You were never mine, but I cared evermore.
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

Istanbul - 23082012 (6 of 135)

Signatures (day 1022)

Where dizzying spells
Slowly pulled me around
To break sound echoing
Of morning Woodpeckers

Resting my eyes
Into the darkness
Into the evening
Into my soul
That searches endlessly
As torches blaze on
In the far off distance
Awaiting our great Mother
To signal once more
That daybreak is upon us

Rupturing tranquility
Into a heavens daze
A fresh smell of lilacs
And signatures begin their drawl