Faint Scent (day 325)

When the traveling troupe rounded the corner
They couldn’t help but thank the good graces of the Lord
They had been walking their weary legs
Forth into the untouched world for many moons
For many moons they had wished that they would one day soon
Find the lost land of their ancestors
Who had so diligently cultivated their land and their hearts
Their souls and their traditions
Forever lasting in the earth that they sow

The travelers stood there in awe
What they had only dreamed of had just opened in front of them
And to help in the majesty
Mother natures golden rays of love
Shone upon their brows like the warm
Souls of their weathered feet
Briskly crossing the untortured path

For now, the gang wars were far away
Faintly whispering amongst the Kentucky Blue grass
Leaving a faint scent in the winds of time
Scaring away the coyotes that howl through the night
With the laughter of their guns
The gang pushed forth, almost at a sprinters pace
The homestead in sight, the chickens within earshot
And the great mother upon the doorstep
Sweeping away the never ending dust
Squinting at the distance where she felt the visitors

Laid (day 320)

I’ve punished you for your sins
This task hasn’t been easy
As I’ve watched you suffer here
From my spot of total control

I’ve laid down the obstacles
You’ve fought along the way
That have caused you great grief
And left you helplessly stricken

The reason for this madness
For all of this torment
Is written in books
Laid out in the plans

But, I suppose you missed those
As you tramped forth on your way
To busy to heed the warnings
In your adversity ways

Ignorance hasn’t paid off then
Has it for you?
Do you regret what you’ve done
As you sit at the gates?

Regardless, this is the fate
You’ve chosen to face
I played out your cards
You thought you had laid

Unknown (day 314)

I’ve flicked the switch into the landscape unknown
It’s rocky, so perhaps then I do know the unknown
Perhaps it leads me to doors I’ve already crossed
And hands I’ve already shaken
Perhaps the golden wings that watch my way
Have slipped through these tracks
Racing against time to make the next happy hour
Resisting the urge to buy yet another round on inflation

Then perhaps I’ve just looked the other way
As the violins play this lonely song along my own yellow brick road
“Cool-y he walks with a keen gaze and a saunter in tow”
Light dipping as he reaches his destination
Pulse quickening as he sees his obsession
Hand slipping as he feels his erection
But the wind dies down, allowing the leaves to come to rest
The calloused palms also find their idle locale

..and the trumpets announce his arrival

Below (day 312)

Today I bore the mark of a sinner
I walked alone and stared down the sun
Loaded pistols and switchblades
I left the house of the holy and
Walked through the dungeon of sin

Chains and clasps there littered the walls
Cold and uneven cementing
Picked at by years of torture;
I slept on these floors while I made love
To the angels that floated down from above

Glassy ponds sink dark inside
Uncharted landscape brewing deep below
The art of deception lies in the sheer
The reflection staring out from below
The dormant eyes that call out aloud

Here Before (day 310)

Seduction just happened
It just walked through that door
The salacious humor crawling
Around my haven ce soir

But before I moved further
Before I groped for the dainties
I smelled sweet surrender
I felt what had grown
As these vines here before

So to pack on more lust
We crowded around the centerfold
We crushed on the crowns there
That had never been soiled

But to remember the last show
Was to slow for the gang
We slapped on the new face
And respected more for the glow
Of the walking here before

Old Worn Out Stool (day 308)

Leftover confessions sit on the old worn out stool
Gathering dust bunnies in the corner
Spider webs slowly crawl into the sunlight
And time slips between the cracks eroding

The warm fly stops a while
Basking in the stray beams sent in loveletters
From the sun lollygagging afar

With a slam the scared stool shakes
Temperamental floor boards wobbling
From the heavy oak door’s hinges

Muddy work boots shift the scene
Askew rays reach but cannot touch
The newly placed stool covered in rags

And darkness ensues
For the old worn out stool
Night trickles in

Sinister Dish (day 306)

Sweet sunsets and mangled reminders of the only stages you’ve ever stepped on that collapsed under your pressure and exploded into your dreams of the last days on earth.

Brought to you by the evanescence, the ultra cool but oh so very hot glow that recorded the passing of time with little whispers that spoke to you like a hard boiled egg or a clinking glass of scotch [on the rocks].

Deeper, deeper I desired as I swayed to the easy listening of the devil’s music that crunched my ear drums like the vibrating stool I now sit on.

Perhaps it’s the toxicity of the room that invites me to pray upon my victim with relentless desires only my dilated pupils can explain away as if I was some mute teenager sneaking out the back door a gunnysack full of father’s liquor.

Did I ever run away from that devious sight I had designed from the first time that I set a foot on your precious neck?

I’ve lost two dollars to the little man we’ve befriended for bets that I’ve drunkenly took and never intended to see through till the end like the lot would have hoped I would have.

Yet, like the flame throwing dummies burnt up in the all to familiar smoke of the madness, I too have found my glory box hidden deep beneath my sock drawer with my fifty dollar bills where no man shall ever speak of.

I salute you, tiny panther, I salute your devilish glare as you circle your pray and wait for their moment of weakness and slaughter them in a feast of all that has been and shall ever come to pass.

This is good.

This feeds both our souls.

This proves that the only thing that has ever rolled from the base of this lone tree that stands in our way was the rupture of happiness.

And forever I shall witness the spiderwebs slowly creep further into the corners of my eyes until one day they too shall bear witness to the struggling undergrowth that shall be sworn to secrecy with the stomping foots of the passing time.

Dare to lay down this sinister dish and feed upon my gravely voice and dried up blood spots.

Fast Cars and Pointy Toes (day 305)

Rummaging through last nights painted fingers
I find an old story I had forgotten to tell
The bent pages tell me I’ve worn it well
The frayed ends say too long

With one single strand of hair hanging down
Flirting with the edges of a smile
And too many dance classes have given
Sexy posture to that romantic back

The light it sits turned down low
Casting devious glances around the room
Slowly flirting with purposeful hands
Roaming over tightly ironed pant legs

Smoke lingers in the air from a burnt candle
Matching the smooth frequencies roaming
About the room like the ladies in sheer dresses
Their fragrances waft into my domain

Slowly brushed aside with a smile
Mischievous smile and a sideways glance
The whiskey pulsing through my veins
Tonight is a game of fast cars and pointy toes