Teach Me the Moment of That (day 972)

Teach me the moment of that.
The moment we collided
In an orchestral orgasm,
Ecstasy of fragrants and essences…
And soft music blowing
Leaves in a swirl about our thoughts
That hang like spring rainclouds.

Teach me the moment of that.
Where I walk on the balls of my feet
Through soft summer warmed sand.
Seagulls walking quietly, lazily,
Hand in hand with sunglasses and oversized hats
That smile at most all things,
And run home to.

A Love Poem To Myself (day 971)

This is a love poem to my own self,
All hairy and indulgent and breathing rapidly.
Because from the tips of my toes
To wisps upon the back of my neck
From the shape of my beak
To the curvature of my idle fingers
I am in love.

Constant thoughts that flutter through
Idle spaces of my mind
Keep my constantly occupied
With being me.
I love that it’s a gear
– Never ending clockwork –
Cycling through unidentifiable patterns
Undeniably grand

Our late night plans are always the finest
Delicacies like chocolate, popcorn,
And maybe even corn nuts
Fill up my dreams, the happy times
Times I spend my other time
Working towards expanding
Stretching it out so that even
Crunching noises become ecstasy

So my love, my true romance
It is my utter pleasure
To be yours forever.
Your breath is my breath,
Your thought is my care,
Your bend is my fold,
You are me, forever one.

Reverie (day 967)

The day that I died
I rose to heights I’d never imagined
I screamed at the clouds
For breaking my ascent
And snarled at the trees
For leaving me behind

The day that I died
I put two left socks on my right foot
I wore my pants a little bit low
To scare old folks
And throw out literal puns
Like the madman I was

The day that I died
I gave mother the biggest hug she’d ever had
She felt within her own arms
The rise and fall of my own heart
She cried great tears that washed away villages
And carved out the mighty Fraser

The day that I died
My heart went to Tibet
Where it sat upon a flagpole
And could do no harm
In times of need, it was unbounded luck
To those who wished upon it

The day that I died
Not a piece of green grass died
Lush was the planet
As the stars made way for me
To call into eternity
That which cannot be given a name

The day that I died
Reverie floated about
Where we lost moments that chided
Our deep complexion of humanity
And all about the silent house
Peace was found existing

My Brow, Your Brow (day 953)

How do you commit to someone
To accept one entirely?
For it isn’t just a walk about
Strolling arm in arm…
Nor is it even a moment laughing
To which the poke’s about.

When I sleep, I do not know
What the murmuring’s about.
And walking gaily, all alone
I shouldn’t dare to stop.
Nor when I sleep in my lone bed
Best guess I’m zig-zag hogging

Is it just when my brow’s a furrowed
That I must dig down deep…
Or when I’m afar, a lonesome distance
Away from my fair damosel?
For strong I am, a soldier here
A valiant man of fortune

And when I catch a glimpse of that
Which doesn’t mesh with thyself,
Is it my duty to embrace distaste?
Or fare me well, when I am proud
To turn my head and trod
Into horizon, into the end, farewell! Be off! Be gone!

No. It isn’t that.
This is not the way.
This is not my heart’s desire.
For my own brow,
And your worn brow,
Are forever joined to cherish.

So I do now know what comes of me,
What begs me to be done.
It’s simply a hand of mine, outstretched and outlaid
Accepting another’s sun, vast, wild, and aglow
In peace, enjoyment.. conquest ho!
We run together, apart.

Free to be a memory,
Or a child in incubation.
Free to hide, and free to glow,
And free to bring the world to me.
Free to hold and free to love,
And free to be with me!

Dropped from a Thorn (day 941)

How do you love without losing
Without spreading open hearts and tears
Like eyes closing, it’s ending in silence
And personal crushing sinks in

But I, the monster, sinking it in
Scream out like bats whipping through night air
A full moon lurks beyond vision
Unknown and omnipresent; thoughts and sight

Writing my love letters
With blood dropped from a thorn
Splattering into a vial
Collected for these poems

I do not remember or recall
Or recede into a sheltered abyss
I do not wash my skin clean
But I am purity, spread open and sheen

Vancouver (day 932)

This city is turning into a love affair
Vancouver, saturated still pullin’ for more
Romance so deep it cuts as the thorn sews
Addictive in the Audrey Hepburn
Black and white kind of way
As if every breath I take leaves trails
Tracing my journey from lover’s edge to lover’s gaze
Big obscene button’ed-up and felted with a liner
Concealing secret pockets holding prohibition’s decision
With unnecessarily charming courtesy
Waiting around the thick-rimmed leather-soled sidewalk corners
As if I should recognize you
I should know that warm gaze and coy smile
Playing with my fancy as I bow
Making my way forth
Arm in arm with another happy day I’ll write home about
Chronicling my romantic love affair
With this lovely city, Vancouver

Old Favorite Sweater (day 930)

I’ve unconditionally surrendered my old favorite sweater
It’s ok, I like her
But… there’s something about it
There’s a beat-up-rusty-truck memory
With worn seats – yellow foam surprises
You know, a once-was-navy-blue bench seat
Shift-knob-black that knows my sentimental touch
Caressing like I’ve driven her well
Like I’ve taken care not to drip gas-o-line
Checked the oil twice a month
And kept the tires at an even thirty five p-s-i

Perhaps the memories are shared with
These in-animate things
These pieces of fabric and steel-workers toil
That warm those chilling days
That don’t quite sit flush the whole way down
Letting familiar drafts rush up the back
Hands in my pocket

Perhaps this is why I smile when she’s wearing it
After all, it’s alright to let these things
Live a life of their own
To sit me down and coo in my ear
Hot chocolate and unconditional
Kind of love

Into An Envelope (day 924)

Conscious slipped into the envelope
Daring the nocturnal feat like wisdom on ice

Memories flip-flop over the landscape
Wooden circle stains hovering dangerously close
To Turkish tea
Little glass handle-less cups
I’d melt a single sugar cube
Balanced on a mismatched spoon

Through big bay windows
I’d get distracted with cats
Hushed away by crazy-hairs
But beautiful foreign lovelies
To my journey’s eyes
I would reach out and touch
With my curious eyes

I’d watch patrons, their rituals
Some hipsters would come in
Groups of them, shattering serenity
With chess, checkers… what else was there?
What else did there need to be?
Sweet eyes, dimples
High waisted 70s chitter-chatter

There was a couple I loved from afar
Full of love and soft mumbles
That sat in different spots each day
Depending on direct power
The second day I took their seat
Where they had sat when
I had fallen in love
The first day at that joint

Cheers darling, I had to say hello
I love your guitar, your dimples
I love language as it rolls off your tongue
Easing my weary shoulders down
Below this shading summer tree
My new folded philosophy