The long lines on my calendar
Tell me there’s trouble on the rise,
A big storm from heaven to hell
Brewing, rumbling, shaking these windows.
Eyes in the darkness blink.
Hades and Cerberus
Between my thoughts and time
Scatter the answers to unknown questions.
Aggrieve, my letters of sound reasoning.
All suspicious thoughts and delicate fantasies
Shall surface uncontrollably
Rearing like the plunging thunderbird.
Yet here time’s lines keep stretching on,
In spite my tariff for illustrious Charon
Clutched deep to my hearth,
I, simple and meager, shoulder my armor.
Forget my tender roses that grow
Beneath the hearth, so warm.
Forget I promised a thousand tomorrows
As one day never arrived.
Forget purple surges amongst our veins
Late when the moon lit our hearts.
Forget crimson skies, tomorrow’s disguise
For lifeless I’ve never remained.
Forget my whispers as they echo on,
Alone in your daddy’s penned name.
Before too much longer I had remembered what I had left home to find,
And it was at that exact moment my memory served me most correct.
I could only get there one step at a time
To a rhythm that was rolling like a Bob Dylan rhyme.
The scene wasn’t written in the papers, nor was it written down in time.
I was left with dried pens smashed up against my soul,
Where my concert was mid-encore;
Pinnacle of loudly unspoken madness.
Large Oak trees to my South side, Highlands to the North.
I’ve been busting these long clouds with my pointed perfection
Rattling off my unchained fancy-foot tongue.
And here I am all bustling around.
Biscuit bushes crash my landing
Stumbling from here to there
Upside down maps in a field of grass;
Whatever the cost.
Twin bed of memories;
I couldn’t sleep tonight.
I couldn’t crumble my formulated wealth
Into sub-sectional mastery.
But if I was a truth say’er
Gifting this shit into inexperienced hands…
If I was withered like soul-less dumplings
I’d be the better man, smoking gaily.
A passive sales strategy
Sitting lonely on my mother’s couch
Wriggling into uncertainty
I watch through a dusty glass
Tripping all the alarms
Tipping the Chancellor off
To an undercover sedated tragedy
And Earl wandering.
And I’m a lonely gravity
As a slow song plays
Like apple cider vinegar
Going straight to my heart.
A little sick soldier floated into my ear today.
He loudly exclaimed he was here to stay.
Over tea we discussed merry things,
Like rooibos tea, poppies,
And the smell of honey on a pretty girls lonely lips.
We both cringed.
We both sighed and laughed
With wicket intensity
That held my soul
Into unconditional surrender.
For after all, I survived these
Battle scars and sleepless memories.