Days of the Week Poem (day 1332)

Butter me on Sunday
Split my hands upon the door,
Call the lady Monday
At a quarter after four.

Lunnegan Lunnegan Lunnegan Sat,
Place your bets here and I’ll make you a stack.
Gone is my friend, night after Tuesday.
Biscuits and rawhide are left in the mud.

Every missed Friday
Is a Wednesday fallen flat.
For opening the windows
Comes Thursday tru-ra-loo lore.

Wrinkled Sheets (day 1322)

When twilight circles my mind like crows and shadows at the hour of feast
I wish for silence, a thousand feet deep.
A silence so lasting that breath trails off into
A frozen pane of windowless reflections,
And the moon clears it’s sleepy eyes
As it gazes over sharp backs of rocky mountains.

Stars must look different from up there, shining so bright.
I have always imagined they have different colors
As the temperature drops.

But from a thousand feet deep I can find only shadows.
I crawl upon bloody knees and fight for my own feast
Among crows and worms who, at this intimate an angle,
Scream like black night and wrinkled sheets.

I pause for a moment struggling to understand
Black lines that criss-cross my hands.
Black arcs that cap my fingernails, digging deep.
I find twilight again as thought slips from my conscience
And incoherent noise picks up again.

Machine Gun Sunrise (day 1315)

Born with a soldier on my back,
A militarically kind of fight.
I marched for justice.
I marched with a heavy heart.
And you step on your way?
You take leave without wisdom,
And miss all these unspoken thoughts.
And if mother In Control
Makes an exit from a foolish heart,
Leave diamonds on the floor;
Take our mirrors down at night.
Truth is not in an insult!
Let’s be born again,
An ocean in the sky!
And nighttime falls
To machine gun sunrise.

Santa’s Merchant (day 1306)

Window shopping down an alley in Hell
The Keeper found one perfect device for all’s demise.
It spoke to him through double paned and tinted glass
Covered with festive snowflakes and cheer.
It sat beside the fat Santa and eight reindeer,
Each one much smaller than Santa himself.
And two cute little stuffed mice that squeaked as he stood there
Calculating and eyeballing the end of it all.
It wasn’t until the merchant smiled
And waved The Keeper on in
That he realized it hadn’t just been him watching in,
But destiny and patience had laid this plan many snowfall ago.
And all he had to do was smile
As the jolly merchant carefully wrapped
The perfect device into an old newspaper
And taped the loose ends together
Before he kindly asked: “Cash or credit, Keeper?”

Forget Deceit (day 1291)

Weather change upon my chains.
Warning bell remains the same.
I know it’s there; illuminate.
Can’t forget animosity,
Can’t forget building tide.
Undecided sayer’s name,
Unto the end, within our midst,
Lot of whispers and deceit.

Calling me, your name.
Secret here cannot remain.
Where does once begineth from?
Is it all just amend, amen?

This is not Life (day 1290)

What are these breaths of terror streets?
What bringeth this indescribable blabble?
Shall it speak for all of my soul: truths,
Or shall mystery shroud over, unspoken?

Un-mystery my salad meats, for I am becometh origin.
Controlling dreams in an undecided, unclad barbaric soul.
Feeding on these terror streets.
And here I yell: “Let these snakes regain territory!”

I shall not feed on unsuspecting vegetation.
I shall not feed on unsuspecting vegetation.
I shall not feed on unsuspecting vegetation.
I shall not feed on unsuspecting vegetation.

This is not life.

Echo War Call (day 1289)

The moments begun to surrender
Time is but nigh, let’s begin.
Found all tools for plunder,
All that’s heard echoes war call.

Infinite darkness upon us,
Army’s madness carries fury.
Screeching, hollering and bloodshed,
Nobody ever remains the same.

Sadness looms like darkness,
Shame is every man’s eternal sin.
Nothing heals in these fields,
Where once grew such forgiveness.