This is not the answer nor should it be left misunderstood
Gods carefully listened but none took action
Forgotten and dead lay the bushel of corn
Raspy, hoarse, brown
Thickening day lay low
And Divine Interpretation was a plan that could not be laid
For dead leaves had fallen and no new growth was expected
Until the decaying layers of slumber departed
Swift onset of thaw set in for another season under her breast.
Tag: dead
Beirut (day 2721)
Every time I hear of the city Beirut
I dream of what dreams are made of
There are city lights that wave at me
With a luminosity that cuts through my being
Little chairs with patrons chilling
In a modality unknown to me
But harming with smiles
That feel half drunk and half alive.
My feet rattle off ancient cobblestones
On the better walks of town
But I find the dead alleys
And imagine how many eyes are watching me.
I have companions here
Who sing with instruments only found
Along this edge of the world
And in Gypsy caravans roaming the deadlands.
My lover sleeps with the curtains open
And silk pyjamas that are usually draped
Upon the wooden chair that’s older than I
She burns a scent I can only find here
With old books I cannot read
But admire the covers and the ghosts within
She kisses with a heavy lip
And smiles with a curious snarl
That keeps me here dreaming.
Lichen (day 2657)
Overwhelming experiences
Laid the groundwork
Afresh
Like lichen upon dead branches
Where rainfall
To rest
And there lying next to it
Awaiting
Cried knowledge
Unable to fly
Abreast
Life of a Leaf (day 2408)
I’ve grown accustomed to leaves turning my memories from fresh to curled, a well understood paradox that changes the tide so romantically it hurts like the small spots beside the bulging veins growing inside.
My smile has grown lines, my heart has extended its beats, my hearing has begun to dance with angels upon the dead leaves blowing along the roughly trampled ground – are these our memories we have yet to experience, or have they been forgotten and left to dissolve into earth?
So I crouch down low and embrace the softly blowing wind that helps me to see my passing time I used to think I loved, I used to want to love, so here I’m hurting from spatial infrequencies that cup my involuntary spasms from underneath the table and remind me to forget to itch the pain.
Does this leaf know it crumbles within my palm so slowly softly? Did it reach for me in a pure moment of thought, expecting my return upon amber wings of a sun soaked day like an emotional Prometheus on a personal mission.
Then, like the ashes of memories crumbling in scaled hands of our Phoenix, so too shall sun rise again over the horizon of a small family farm to bring with it a wet spring full of insight and gratitude that runs the width and depth of a heart shaped leaf settling softly upon a well worn path of insight.
No More Trees, Money’s For Me (day 2064)
It’s ok that we cut down these trees for warmth
Let’s not get upset about our mountain
Turned crater, shipped to the moon,
Our water is a good memory, a clean memory
A clean memory for my dry lips
Afraid of this purple water
Maybe my dinosaur bones will take me home
To a land full of ten year old trees
Where water flushes the land clean
No more dirty top soil: eroded,
Home where the magical golden clouds
Hover just above the skyline, stinking
And water is just slightly brown
Mycelia? No, my bill fold needs more dinosaur bones
To sink into these fresh water lakes
Chopsticks, chopsticks, chopsticks trees
Get these poles off to the mill
Down that road of rubber and oil
More dinosaur bones and I’m ready to kill
Floating at 70 miles an hour
In plastic rocket ships, towing plastic bricks
And you there, strange looking person
How many toes do you have? You’re not one of us
Your skin is funny and your smell’s different
Let me see your papers that say many things
I don’t believe you can grow your beans here
See, my dead trees and stretched metal rings
Say: ‘NO TRESPASSING’
Get out, leave us alone
You’re filling us with lies
Unless you’ve got tits, beers, football, and guns
Money’s for me, and less of you.
Spoons of Sorrow (day 1959)
When I walk into an empty room
When I reach my palms for the sky
As essence, I’m a ghost
And sunrise brings tomorrow
With ten thousand spoons of sorrow.
I am a prophet in a rose
With two hands tied by thorns,
Fence posts painted white
Along dew kissed morning lawns.
When I sit amidst thousand year old trees
When I wave crookedly in heaven’s winds
My heart becomes a dead leaf
Integrating so effortlessly into a path
Dust to soil to earth to spring.
So long shall my stalk bend
Two ends of a hemp string crossed,
Seeds falling on gray wood
And harvest moon is my birth.
The Boxer (day 1933)
You were a boxer
Every Thursday night
After Big Jim’s Saloon
Took a bottle and you
Out to a cobblestone night.
A muffled mind with intention,
Fireworks covered in mud,
And a slow slur that wound up
Like Roadrunner
Walking a tightrope,
The top rope
Of a dark, four cornered ring.
You liked the big city
Because your slow down
Never coincided with a dead end.
Your betting days
Flashed jackpot on your bedroom wall:
Red, green, and yellow.
And your highschool sweetheart
Hung alone on peeling paper
That crackled back at you
As you walked naked
From your bedroom
To a comfortable routine
You knew so well.
Journals (day 1902)
I want to prescribe my love to a book,
Hold it like dead leaves
Ready for to crumble.
I want my dreams to spill
Into a molten desert
My toes slowly roast in,
Pealing at the seams
As my typed heart scowers
Horizon lines flickering between
Icy reverence and painful reality
And papercuts
That read like smudged fingers
Of a well loved journal.
Follow Me (day 1685)
Don’t follow me
I am not feeling good.
I am not yet alive,
I am still feeling dead.
You gave your heart to me,
In a better time I
Had my heart alive,
Had my head held high.
Who is my glow out there?
A beacon lost at sea,
An ember fading fast,
A whisper, died at last.
Lover’s Last Walk (day 1656)
Waltzing this dead grass,
Upon a lane – straight, into glowing.
Fingers lingering upon touch
That this flickering ambiance
Drifts back and forth;
Death in a secret glass vile
Encircled three times
With a locket of hair,
Clutched close to thy heart.
