All that’s left is a silhouette
Screaming out in bursts of steam,
Each echo, forever damped.
Each heartbeat, forever cold
And solemnly lifting this black trailing gown
Lightly off Lucifer’s cold ground,
Frozen unevenly like ghastly daggers
So elegantly strapped
To my heaving chest in triumph.
And so fades thy vision.
Tag: cold
Rowboat (day 1658)
A sadness which has my heart is the deepest joy I have ever known. A snaking coil in my veins that surges with pressure of an ancient gale, fierce in spirit, surfacing upon it’s vista. I have come to realize I am the coloration, the reminiscent artifact of ashes smearing an impossible black sand beach at the head of the trust waters. My song is what trees sway to, sitting about the shoreline untouched by humanity’s destructive progress and filled with such contrast, from lightness to a darkness deep within the bosom of her mossy embrace. My song reaches to the toenails while standing barefoot upon this cold black sand, embracing wind as it blows every last hair drawn fabric about thy heart. My heart is forever in liberty, just as these black pebbles cackle at retreating waves. My heart is a mariner with a squint of foggy shorelines, and my sadness is forever the rope mooring our rowboat beached upon this black sand beach.
This Old House (day 1652)
A terrible wind
Is blowing through
The house again tonight.
I’m lucky to
Have got on my
Moccasins for extra warmth.
And if I am
Of my right mind
I’ll surely bring out my socks
To keep my toes
And this empty bed
Warm throughout tonight.
OK (day 1630)
Push me now.
Ok.
Hug me like I’ve been wisdom
At a town hall meeting
In a critical assembly.
Let me fall into icy cold waters
Of a running, Northern creek
As crystals form delicately
On outstretched branches of trees.
Ok.
We are one.
Turkey Vulture Dust (day 1518)
As Sun chooses a new neighbor
A turkey vulture closes its eyes
And lets a cold shadow fall upon
Over a dusty ledge of an outcrop,
Shaking sporadically to warn gangsters
Of the lonely outback;
Let their eyes attend elsewhere.
This is a restless moment
Which comes nightly,
A fact us villains can never forget.
Eight Legged Creatures (day 1442)
I cannot shake cobwebs of memories woven
Like the nest of an eight legged creature
Singing along to its tiny violin.
For whether I am last or first becomes
A brown bottle of almost never cared,
Sitting lifelessly on a stained cedar windowsill
Collecting dust and losing its eyes to tears,
Losing its words to years.
Somehow daughters never returned,
Sisters forgot the street number
Even though the sign sat twisted like a unicorn
Whose mane flowed so thickly in powerful gusts of wind
A rooster turned right around watching.
One cobweb strand reminds me of twin fawns
Who would wander by searching for blackberries,
Rich and prime and staining my fingers
Like thick lines trailing after a slug
Crossing a cement pathway.
I’ve grown used to the cobwebs,
Adjusted to being wrapped so delicately
Subtle changes in atmosphere
Cause reverberating sensations to flicker around
Along a one way street on the holy train.
It’s reached a point where I no longer feel
The sweet perspiration of an ice cold Coke bottle;
Instead, the roar of a monotonous dial-tone
Eager to tell me it’s all right,
And I’ve been here before.
Cold Sky (day 1396)
I’ve handwritten hate notes
From left to right,
Memorized verbiage
And recited it (in vain).
But every time your
Sorceress’s purple slash
Glowing culdron green hair
Circles around my mind
And escapes in little
Involuntary gasps,
I remember your name
And speak kindly of love
We never shared,
Of memories we never bothered
To sculp. For time,
Like lost memories,
Has slipped between our footsteps,
Taking our visages
Out from in front of
Ten foot windows
To Leave our strange encounters
Reflecting like
Clouds in this cold sky.
Breakfast in a Window (day 1372)
This is my state of missing,
My left right left
Shuffling to a lone beat
Far off in the distance
With tightly bound vacationers
In a cold and windy coastal retreat.
I’m a window shopper
With four empty pockets.
I’m a full stomach
And nowhere I call home.
Dreams in the Key of Darkness (day 1343)
Sometimes dreams don’t leave room for imagination;
Waking with a fright and deep recollection.
Hollering into night cools my lone wolf.
I’m a man of slip-slopping recollection,
I dine with strangers who share my wine.
We beg for answers when we’ve shown no mercy.
We all do.
It’s the cruelest of tortures that bless us rancid
Until our feverish states blow our sails full.
Darker seas then any wind-swept sailor would care to see.
Rupturing up my torn soul
I do continue to howl in my brief waking hours
For my window has closed and my feet become sore
And my alley of sinister has just become cold,
To await my march as darkness in greeting.
Winter Footsteps (day 1337)
Winter swept away my eyes,
Blinded while in memory
That lay half spent from truth,
Half lost on an innocent blue eyes
That woke with no name.
I walked backwards to confirm my footsteps –
Innocents of a broken heart.
For too many, my dear love,
Have fallen unwatched upon this cold ground.
Share this memory with my awaiting cold winter steps.