Desire fills my heart into one thousand pieces
Memories, unfurling as if eyes were closing tightly
Around minute memories and love letters.
I’ve concluded the end is near,
My hands have become wrinkled and so sore with work.
I will leave a little letter sitting open
Beside the night table
Where all of my wishes will be laid out in bullet point form
Segmenting all I wished I had made, yet un-done.
Do not tarry long where footsteps make no noise,
Wild animals will moan at your sound
And terrors of your heart shall flutter on by
As leaves in the wind make passing comments.
And my waning crescent turns towards me
To reach it’s dagger-like fingers
Deep inside my once well lit thoughts, cavernous,
And lay the sign of Hermes upon my back
To mark the gathering of one thousand pieces.
Category: lost
Running (day 1903)
Dear Lord I’m running
I’m in stardust, singing,
Lord, I’m running.
With a sweet land for a mind
And two cards in my hand
Lord, can you see me?
Here I am, I’m running
To the end of the line
To this day’s final sign
To the stardust on my mind
And looking for a clear sign
To lay my final jest
Lord, I’ve been coming
And here I am, running.
Framed (day 1898)
Framed, I calculated an unnerving amount of resistance that spread like wildfire into Westward directions, of which of course I had no control over yet still tried to impart my wisdom and hence strength into the combined force of what I could not really understand.
So from A to B related my conceptualized compassion that hadn’t yet fully been realized, described as it may have been impartial as it was, was released into the atmosphere that concluded the segmented destruction I had begun at once, since I was always hanging around at the door.
Did you mean it?
I, for one, hadn’t lied since the conceptualized rhythm had taken hold of my toes and left me writhing aimlessly upon the cold, hard floor encircling my conceptualizing and leaving faint ellipses of my heated innards, heated imprints of smudging recollection slowly evaporating.
Yet you. You. You you you you you! You hadn’t had a word of truth since your mother siphoned ink drops from your stained fingers to extract what viciously romantic letters you had sent to the tightrope walker of your dreams. How could you remember such blithe moments of innocent lust, only scattered in pajama pants of a sleep-over with two bottles of soda pop rattling against nevermore.
So I thought my captain’s hat was an excellent choice to begin my journey with. I thought my heart had a marvelous lagoon illuminated by fireflicking effervescence – like lightening bolts for my neurons jitterbugging their way past each other in such a hurry A to B, A to B, A to B to one two three for I am lost in the conceptualized space of lighting bolts upon the cold tiles of this broken bathroom’s shore.
Framed, I left no remark, no emblem, no Saturday night band-aid to recollect seashells from the forest floor – blown. No deafening roar lifting up my coattails I had left begging at the door. No satin sheets too stained for use and frayed at the edges in bad need of delicate iron’s pour. No guilt nicely crumpled up inside a warm cocoon, marsupial, canonized, capitalized, heavenly guilt-free and framed, alone with torment.
Devour Exacts (day 1895)
Does heart devour time?
Does race my worried mind?
Does a crane out in the wind
Lean against what drives within?
And so I seek to look into
A window I’ve left unlocked
I’ve whispered secrets,
I’ve held soft hands
I’ve lost my heart to time.
But calling out my windy mane
Like a horse lost in run
I’ve become what cannot be tamed
My life exacts and spun.
Innocence (day 1893)
My innocence exists
In tiny bursts of firelight,
Choking on minute details
Of brilliance and twilight
Provided by sparkling stars over head.
But in confusion
I simple stared back
At flashes and smiles
Misunderstanding and
Enjoying the experience
Until I can have one myself.
Dead Ends (day 1874)
I don’t want to remember
Because the stories of my nostalgia
Belong to endings I’ve never lived
And lost songs I’ve left unsung
Ring on in my head.
I don’t want to play those records
Because they’re broken now,
And my heart reaches
Every time the needle skips,
And every time I drive those streets
I’m left shifting gears of a
Past I’ve left dead ended.
Dreamland (day 1866)
I woke into a space
I could not call time
Magical fires burned
And mushrooms grew
Below thick layers of dewy moss.
I, the explorer,
The harvester of what could be
Looked upon the land
As opportunity to
Let loose all dear things
Go as I could plan.
Here the gold
Of my mind
Could leach its way about
As if a blooming grape
Growing up
Out of a four year and scored stem.
Exist Between (day 1861)
Where is this spot that exists between dream and reality
The viscerally imaginative soft stuff
That shakes shaggy ground free of complaints
And sunsets clear morning’s dew
From cobwebs shining as if testing new approaches
To similar corners, similar filters, similar dreams
That sit still and recoil while inhale meets exhale
And spring meets autumn
And one meets two
And a shoe gets worn through by impermanence of space
That’s always been growing up and chopped down
And eaten and fed and counted and weighed
And slotted into a spreadsheet marked with scales
Ranging from zero to ten with a save button
That creates multiple redundancies.
When the only request is for a tiny piece of convenience
For just one moment.
And in a flash,
With feet firmly planted securely on uneven ground
And hands held out in wide Namaskar to this beautiful world
A little droplet of rain shall fall perfectly
Upon a freckled upturned nose holding thoughts
Of a sunny day and all the rays of life shall shine down
In abundant warmth like a ticking clock
Chiming in at every quarter hour.
Eyes Closed (day 1859)
I’ve been thinking to distance myself from the truth,
A constructed perception feeding off culture
Who knows the same truths.
I’m not there.
I tied my shoes and went for a walk
Along a winding trail and past calling birds.
But I am filling up with distractions
That keep me from my all in,
My wild abandon that no longer fears.
So I will sit still and run off my mind
And let happy dancers play their sweet music
That washes over my eyes closed vision.
Dusty Boulders (day 1857)
Take this blood and run it along an irregular line from here to there, for there is no longer a fountain of youth screaming for more sticks and balls; left for dead there is only a pulse of electricity surging away into a stream of monotony.
But where does each screaming echo fall?
Twisting it’s way through sandstone crevices along a dried river basin, footsteps led aimlessly uphill in search of a higher plateau that might offer a view of the future, or lead to a three feet wide round door of periscope and a three strands of hemp rope holding a dangling sign that read: “Welcome. Please come in.”
If all was lost, there would be no now, for now is not lost as a pinch can accost.
While large maple leaves unfurled to beckon in the Summer, a slow and sweet amulet of sweat rested nicely between the bosom of naked pixie, casually watching the dried river splash over dusty boulders.