Raindrops off Rooftops (day 2104)

Please don’t take my feeling
Down another empty highway
Like raindrops off rooftops
I’ve been splashing my dreams
All over you, girl.

I’ve found these dotted lines
With my blossoming feeling
As windshield blades swipe clean
My fogging dream, girl
Sweet reverie.

Silhouettes take my eye drops
Far from my Cadillac lollipops
Another roadhouse streetlamp
Flickering hope, girl
I’m taking the next pullout.

Feel in it; another crooked street
Turn me on with a vibrant song
Shake me by a gravity stick
Boom ba-da-boom-boom
And my song goes on.

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.

Denim Free (day 1783)

Head pushing backspacer
Forever is a road sign
Empty windows feeding your seed
Fragmented vision – indiscreet

Waxing on the good side
Wondrously bowed a King
Stained white dustbowl
Shady blues bus stop

Cruel is a stop sign
When life’s on the run
Freedom is a hole in
Denim back pockets

A Dream (day 1689)

I hung onto raindrops
That caressed a blurry,
Single paned window
Sitting empty in a dusty house,
Too tall for company.
I flicked white paint
Peeling along the border,
Imagining my memory
Washed away by a doorbell
That signalled good news.
Of course, a dream
Only dreams,
For never has a swan been seen
Basking among scarred lands:
Desolate trees with
Children’s toys scattered,
Left behind in a moments rush
Towards a meaning to all this silence.

Just Fine (day 1587)

Left my memories
On an empty bank today
Singing an old song
And my heart bleeds on

Turned to a broken arrow
Shot through the dark
Loosely wrapped with a
Half written love letter

Leather upon my wrists
Empty and holding it tight
Got a wing on my mind
Baby, I’m doing just fine.

Just Fine by Ned Tobin

That Fun (day 1582)

“I’m not that fun”
Said the crescent moon
That wept loudly
Amidst autumn’s leaves
Spread carelessly perfect
On an empty yard
Sitting aimlessly awkward
With such high hopes.
And then thy heart stripped.
Forsooth, a voice sounded;
To gasp, even just for a brief moment
The complexities no shadows
Could reveal.

A Chance to Be Faculty and Chief (day 1119)

A valley, like my mind, may look empty on the inside – void of all that makes up matter. Void of all the mass that builds houses and factories and city roads and flower gardens and traffic jams.

For cannot this still matter? I am lost in a wasted land, and the fight challenges my patience along grated edges of wisdom.

Do you hear the sharp bells ringing? Is this the difference that is ringing, or has freedom finally called my name?

The sheath shall sadly fall apart, ragged from too much use like a cocktail napkin at a lipstick party. History shall not scream loudly here. This is not the bitter pages of a non-fiction picture book.

Here we have wrinkled tin garbage cans rolling lifelessly along unkempt lawns of former princes’, former glory holes that believed in a dream. A lifeless dream built on waste management systems and recycling plans.

So I cannot spoil my food anymore. My valley – running deep – is the chance to be faculty and chief. My valley is the early morning breath and the dying chances. My valley is the shortened season and the wilderness.

My valley is me, and I’ve begun to see.