Don’t Cry Father (day 479)

Without words there are no places to fit between the spaces that occupy the recesses of this lucid destined body
The examples of torture don’t phase thine countenance for they wreak not havoc upon the brain
Sure, in the sweet of night nestled amongst the cute lovers sleeps a sound, resolute companion
But the sounds that spread outward from the turmoil keeps even the lifeless awake at night
Perhaps it’s the bitter truth that doesn’t comply with the answers that have fallen into the cracks
The same cracks which have begun to play upon the misfortune that crawls out of the drainage pipes that lay rusting
Lack of use caresses even the sweet droplets of dust that dance around every corner of the damage
Don’t cry my dear mother, the day had to come eventually even if we wanted to abandon all that stinks of the truth
Don’t cry my dear lover who swirls around the nights thoughts with a magic only fitting for a witch
Don’t cry father, sent away is the bitterness that never had a safe storage space in your towering cabinets of force
And onwards and upwards the sands spin and roll and create new spaces in the holes that have been abandoned
Despise the coward who among all whispers and shouts at the same two demons, unable to answer his own requests
Rest now, in this sweet night that nestles itself amongst the cold flaps of a long draped winter jacket
Rest dear lover on the sweet thought that one more day shall come where only the good times will pass by your mind
Fear not the answers you have known the whole time

Speek (day 426)

Do not fear that which I haven’t spoken
For it does not hurt
It does not pierce the skin
Leaving trails of blood
As you blindly wander the pits of despair..

Do not cover your ears in fright
Against the words that don’t belong
Beating drums that sing all night
Flow forth from the center
Of the answer to distance

Do not riddle the words laid clearly
They mean not to set askew
The center piece
Of altars grace
Counter points to your lovers wiles

Confusion (day 421)

The confusion is like Clouds today
Perfectly shapely and full of volume
But unconvinced of whether they like the sun
Or if the sun has had it’s fun and should be sent away

It confuses me as I roll here
Along the sandy tides of earth and light
I step along the meadows of deep
To come forth with my own delight

And when the sun has further chased Clouds away
Green grass and leaves of trees do flutter
Shaking their selves to and fro
Pulling at the unconvinced rays of Clouds gates

Perhaps all that’s needed is to stand and stretch
To grow my wings unlike Creon’s folly
To learn from wisdom, and heed all advice
But lessons unclear confuse my direction

Lair (day 401)

I have come from afar to find myself here
Stuck in the middle of a lions lair
I’ve grown mighty weary of the complacent man
Happy to crowd where they can’t get around
But I in my ways have escaped the tirade
Sent all the occult peddling their assault
Off to the gardens to fight with the gods
And I shall reside here, with cup and a pad
To write down my guises, as they spew forth tonight
Perhaps I shall soon then, get a call from afar
That then shall be fine, I shall heed as they call
For the lion that does not roar, is merely a cat

Bastards of the Sea (day 363)

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

Nobbin (day 360)

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

Local Hole (day 351)

I’ve been here before
This local hole
This traffic pattern
This left over dismal
Pit of destruction

Perhaps it’s maybe not that bad
Perhaps it’s maybe a lost cause

I’ve pulled on this string
Left it alone and desolate
Barren in it’s future
without hope and lost
Callused and abused

Perhaps it’s its design
Perhaps it’s just counseling

I’ve calmed down these gates
Without warning I’ve left
The hope has lasted again
I’ll wake tomorrow and see
That the work is finished

Simply In Vain (day 350)

How much has been said about what we do find
Deep beneath the solid layers of pine
We rake and we groom, shovel and we dig
Perhaps it’s all in the shape of our rig
The ending is the beginning is the same in the rain
The trollys will continue, in circles hardly vain
Then here, with the lot of it, we sit and we pout
Trying to figure out the riddles of our gout
Even with the long lines, and bustling desires
Have we ever found a whistle blown not by a squire?
So then we do perfect that which we’ve had all along
The deepest and darkest and lightest of songs
It’s one and the the same
Simply in vain