Books (day 205)

Whiplash
Amongst other things
Seems to drag my daylight hours down
Like the needle fighting the yarn
Spindles through the gates
Shave me again dear lover

Burning
Lowers the daylight hours to a mere glimpse
Cowering in softened corners
Fed time by foreign oils and secret spells
Wizards walk here
Beneath and amongst

Covering the distance with speed
I’ve not seen coming from these here limbs
Since the rain washed away the sense
Built up in evanescence
Oh sigh, long lost love
Beyond all ropes of length

Close books
Fight doors
Leave bores
Slam whores
Eat smores

Badomp Badomp (day 200)

Feel my swagger
Badomp. Badomp
I walk; coy smile
I don’t even need to talk…
I know I own the place
Badomp. Badomp

Stop signs turning green
Ladies; up and down
Gentlemen tipping hats
Badomp. Badomp
I know
Today I own the place

Best seats in the house
Parking stalls for free
Empty spots in busy crowds
And easy drinks
Badomp. Badomp
Badomp. Badomp

I live a life of luxury
Fine cars and champagne
Long panty hoes with fancy garters
Badomp. Badomp
Boys and their hootin’ hollers
Badomp. Badomp

Leaves (day 195)

Lost in an adolescent desire
A makeshift, slightly dull dream
Fitted with romance and pretty culture
Little black, very little black

Sun flares blur my vision
Flowers clutter my hair
And only sweet songs fill
The everlasting notes through the air

It’s summer
I’m here at last
I’m here, writing love notes
To all of the boys

Giggling under covers as I re-read
The wrinkled back pages of my life
Amicably plotting the glorious
Future that has yet to shade

Boney knees and hold this please
Skipping circuits and hearts everywhere
Hearts on jeans, hearts on sweaters
Hearts on hands, hearts on books

Hearts on sleeves
Come close to these
I have yet to learn the power
To my unconscious flirt

Dreaming of the boys
Dreaming of me
Dreaming of the blue oceans
Screaming at me

I know in the future
I’ll remember it all
For all of it I’ve collected
In between these here leaves

The Heavens (day 195)

This journey has been tortured and turned with the omnipresent glare of the eagle
The desires of conquest have been hindered by the scorn of angels
The love has never been spared by cupid, nor by a hungry lover’s eyes
Yet the gears still turn, the ride still rolls

This ascent has been beaten with brutality of breath
Baited with the promise of one pure and descending glance towards the worlds we’ve passed through
A view from the heavens, a wonderfully epic moment of hysteria
As the clouds below part and clarity is felt like the needle sinking in

Mother, won’t you cry with me, die with me
As the young ladies last romance curled its gnarly fingers around the seeping demise
Withered air collapsing into the cruel hands of zero gravity
Mother, won’t you cry with me? Die with me.

Out of The Cold (day 167)

Abound with joy she zipped up her pants
Wrapped the scarf one more time around
Before she braved the cold wall facing her

She stepped out the door into the brisk air
Cooly calm after the night whirled in her head
Like a heart worn, still spinning top

Anticipation in waiting, like the empty bowl
Full of surprises but still quite unready to expose
The vampires call now, late in the night

The steps jump faster, as joints stiffen against the cold
The bus .does. .not. .ever. come quick enough
Fucking transit, mumbled under her breath

As a lady, she smiles, ignoring the smirks
As a temptress she squirms, applauding the smiles
Alone she hurries, out of the cold

Gloves (day 163)

Beautiful gloves of
Beautiful gloves of
Beautiful gloves of
Beautiful gloves of

of

Many fancy shirts
Wrapped in designer skirts
Tie, around your neck
Dizzy lips swap

to

Remain the last breath
Spotted around the corner
Suffering endlessly
Alone, without gloves company