Leftover Lovers (day 1110)

She was a woman who cared for her lovers
The same she cared for beggars and friends.
A little lone heart with a name stuffed with blues;
Hobo’s delight in a $10 Marlborough,
And my love never lasted in that smoke-house saloon.
Love in a little back door room.
My dreams and I was heartache by Tuesday.
Though I swam like a digger, I was surfaced and saved
In my own lonesome song.
She was a heart made up of elastics
And my twangy delivery
Was the Wednesday that I’d never start.

So don’t go treating your lovers
Like left over flipping page books.
It’s a forgotten stack, the dusty pile,
And we’re a never ending love song
With toes getting colder.
A common answer to sufferin we kept inflicting,
Two unspoken lovers on two lost Sundays.
Two out of tune guitars
Waiting to behold warmer mornings,
Just waiting on leftover tea.

She made me get up later
So we could talk of traveling gypsies
And listen to leftover records
We’d forgotten to play with brandy.
I collected your answers in tiny glass jars
For your leftover spells.
I wasn’t branded in passion;
Painted on that old saloon wall
With some unspoken love song
And leftover cigarettes sailing the sea
As I woke up to Wednesday
On a Tuesday afternoon.

Flower’s Heart (day 1090)

I’ve got memories stored deep inside a flower’s heart.
It’s named sunshine and a memory
For your hidden broken secret.
Nobody knows, and it’s
Nobody knows.
Dancing with the street lights,
Unmarked walls of silent hallways.
Which have me singing out loudly
With angry pixies and upset fairies.
Lightly dancing strings of laughter
About my hidden secrets name,
Knowing I’m forever dreaming
Deep inside this heart’s remains.
This flower never after.
Nobody knows, and it’s
Nobody knows.

Sunken (day 1084)

I’ve lost my ways, forgotten and tilted,
My wings, they’ve bent all up and wilted.
They’ve shook out wildly their last flutter,
Left me to scramble my eggs in butter.

I used to hold my whispers tightly
But now I’m lost forever, nightly.
And to my breath I speak not warmth
For long gone dark, my sunken hearth.

When gone I’d toil a long days work,
To make a home, to fill my fork.
Though since my leaf has been unsheathed
I’ve lost my will to hold, to breath.

I pray to come, a return of my memory
To overcome my being, my sensory.
But if I were to forget it all,
Would I ever wonder how?

A Discussion With Myself (day 1077)

day 1
What discusses me?
Sits in its bedroom late at night
And debates.
Contemplates.
Deliberates and swaps memories
With fact like evidence.

day 2
What discusses me?
In a large cozied pot
Of herbal mint tea leaves.
A fortune read.
Destiny.
Visions undecided.

day 3
What discusses me?
In my discussions with my lonely mind,
Flip-flopping wrinkled sheets
That crease my minds
Soft footsteps
Through lazy Sundays.

A Naked Gift (day 1071)

Warm water has rushed over my body,
Cleaned me of my sins and soaking
Virgin soil beneath my feet.
I have witnessed a standard
Leave nothing in return.
Shaking free the eggcorn
That grabs on tight to my chest.

Looking at my neat bundle of sticks
I collected while stepping over
Last year’s dead leaves, I realized
How stubborn I had been.
Yet, my every ounce of energy
Was focused as my petrified soul
Shook in an exposed, naked gift.

Lagoon (day 1068)

I was escaping a tear drop I had left beside the bed:
Tears of mixed emotions, like a fleeting moonlit night.
Stuck there; family man and the rock and roll band.
Jesus and his long haired hippies that didn’t wash their hands.

I played a mouth organ as I whispered at swans
Floating by the dock of this lost lagoon
Where my nimbly toes wash cotton balls free like fresh sheets.

I didn’t even turn around to that old familiar sound,
Lost in a pool of choreographed love letters
I’d heard in a song driving fast and straight down Paradise Road.

The things we used to do, the life I used to live.
An old loon used to sing the sun to sleep here every night.

Delirium (day 1067)

I do not know where the rose petals fell;
Floating from my conscience as I lost sight of all.
Leaving an impression, like tail winds trickling
Into the evanescence of my breath.

But you who art sight! What cometh of thy history,
Lost into thy pool of still waters shaking.
I fell one warm, kind day – a moon’s length away,
Into the feelings of a warm blooded kiss.

My littered floorboards of mother natures spoil
Tickled my memory while I shook out my whiskers.
I laid there and laughed for the whiskey surged my sour,
And love settled down beside me, for I was delirious.

Those Words (day 1062)

Don’t say those words.
Don’t whisper into the madness.
Don’t hold my hand when wind blows so strong.
For I am only a man,
A lonely man
Stepping lightly through long blades of grass
Soaked with morning dew.
Hanging on.
Lifting my love
That sits balanced on a finely pressed
Single sheet
Of stationary,
Manufactured with my namesake in mind
And imprinted with layered words
Of forgotten notes
Passed along in a time when I knew
Those words were necessary.