I am a story of now
Without apathy of indecision.
I am a garden in blossom,
Peak of the trail,
Midnight and stardust,
Lover yet exhausted.
My pages are wrinkling
Which I’m slowly flipping,
My saddle worn upon
A horse well ridden,
Dog companion,
And my decision.
Month: May 2016
Electricity Dance (day 1817)
Electric can dance
And I am a passionate prisoner
Lucid and cold
I’m sweat of your soul
What takes out the fire
Brings in my glance
Scattered at sea
Wind’s following me
Three (day 1816)
Human is at last on my mind
Nine fifteen nine fifty three
Easy my modal
On stride in a day’s lemonade
If it goes to three
Then land on my hill
Let ours be and then be
Motion set inside of me
Advantage atmosphere
Advantage tip of my tongue
Burning without gasoline
Summer night is my number three
Mail (day 1815)
A callused hand is my tomorrow;
You’re never far behind.
Leave alone the matted mess
That flirts with every question
For in the envelope of time
Was never sort of guessing, no,
All that was ever called
To surface of the law
Was packaged neatly, sorted, drawn,
And placed into a manilla – shut
Stamped with half ones love
Lost Like Wings of an Angel (day 1814)
Like lost wings of an angel
Sun came and kissed my closed eyes,
Shaking little bits of history
Through my grasping fingers
And loosely fluttering to the floor
In a pattern that brought chills
All the way up my curved spine
To anxious tips of my shoulders,
Unfurling as spring blossoms.
Asked to be An Angel Again (day 1813)
I was asked to become a guardian
Down low, down low, in a bottom of mud.
Too late, I said,
Coughing and excusing myself;
Toxicity had taken control
Of my asthma, uncontrollably
Letting my lungs flank
Sides of this yellow pole.
I smiled nicely
At the man who said something,
But to him, I wasn’t listening,
I was to busy snoring.
Excuse me, I said,
Under my breath
And a fly came and landed
Above my head,
So I moved on again, up high, up high.
Dirtbag Scumbag (day 1812)
Dirtbag scumbag
Roll my eyes into this guise
Made-up offending
Ruling this land
And let it be that we don’t care
For what sure aren’t feeling
And there’s a long line
Waiting for tattoos at
Minivan alley.
This ol’ destroyed board
Traded for a pinstripe man
Waiting down the alley
From hunger land
That never came:
Gone too far.
Trying (day 1811)
I know I should take the bait
Take a long lineup of hardship
And exchange it for matching shoes
With couples pillows
And a constant strain
On the middleman
Who religiously writes me, nicely,
Every two weeks to tell me it’s OK
And leaves me wondering
What I had once thought
Was a romantic idea,
Because IKEA has enough assemblage
To make my choice just hard enough
That I won’t mind inspiration
Now filled with a cacti,
Leaving little room
For an inspired thought
That keeps me thinking I’m trying.
And I am trying.
Dreaming (day 1810)
You don’t understand the envelope of my heart
You never did.
You grabbed hold
Of little pieces
I had never used before.
That held me dreaming
Because I am a dreamer
Dreaming my damnedest truths.
Buy your grabbing on to,
Was your dreaming of, too;
I, wild as beasts held
Flickering of hope
On the heaviest and darkest of nights
Finding cold love
In the season of heat.
Rib Cage (day 1809)
She’s become a rich thud
On the inside of my stiff rib cage,
A desert dweller
Wrapped in a long scarf
Elegantly colored
But wind torn.
Her footsteps stretch from
Slightly blurry horizon lines
To a place not far from me,
Not too close.
One step behind
One step ahead.
So the dust rolled on
And my footsteps I would have liked
To trace back my heart steps
Casually covered over
With waves I vaguely recognized,
Which feigned my heart
Like a sticky leaf
To the inside of my rib cage.