Moon at Midnight – Part XII (day 1986)

(part XI)

It took me a long time to get over the loneliness I now felt
Each step was an effort of motivation
My heart wanting to turn around and embrace the kindness
But I knew I had to go on
I had kept their names in my pocket book
So I could write them
And they had also given me the address of some friends
That lived East, that I might come across
On my long journey.

The weather was starting to get colder
But still very early in Autumn
So I had quite a while to make it to where I was going
The question of where I was going
Did definitely come across my mind many times
And in conversation with Frank and Amy
I had learned the distances of some of the towns
I would be approaching as I made my way East
You know you’re getting close to a town
As trails become more worn
And paths get wider
Signs of civilization everywhere
From freshly knocked down trees to garbage thrown aside
Carelessly.

It was nice to be walking again
When a thin layer of sweat started to heat me
I remembered the little spots easily
That had so been tenderized by my pack and walking
Funny how so quick a body can forget
When it’s not being put to use
None of the pains I had felt working the axe
Inhibited my walking,
Though I instinctively reached for them
From time to time.

I spent most of the day walking at a rapid pace
Trying to get the most out of my peaceful mind
Still with a fresh set of feet and a bushy tail
I barely stopped for lunch
Just quickly finding a soft spot
And eating down the delicious food Amy had sent with me
I held a small piece of dried moose in my hand
As I walked, taking small bites and savoring the flavor
That made the edges of my mouth water uncontrollably
It reminded me of being a kid
And shredding dried jerky to put into our lips
As if we were chewing the real tobacco
A habit I never really did catch on to.

part XIII

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Ode to Autumn (day 1931)

When I was a little lad
I can remember quite vividly
How I’d run around in wool:
Jackets, mittens, and a toque.
Rosy cheeks would rush between
Piles of raked leaves
Exploding as a shaggy dog may
Tongue half way to the ground.
I remember putting my nose
Pressed right to the ground,
Smelling dirt and grass
And observing in minute detail
Leaves turning from green to brown
Crackle them along veins
Once so vibrant, so alive, fresh
Now so similar to the dirt
Squished between my fingers.
Bugs, beetles..
Busy in the dizzying mirth
Of all such decay.
Here, I would stay,
Madly fascinated with stacked flower pots
Textures of clay now everywhere!
From where did they come?
Every Autumn was fun,
Preparation everywhere,
Chopped logs and canning jars,
Hockey sticks and Halloween,
Snow banks and toboggan pulls.
I can remember the dying sun.

Fresh Hay (day 1847)

I wandered into an empty barn, and couldn’t figure out why the hay still smelt fresh. My eyes adjusted with a twinkling daylight filtering in through cracks in the wooden walls, dust that may have once been settled was caught suspended in the beams of light and my eyes scanned the well worn floor, distracted by the antique tools laying about as if still in use. How could I know what had come here before? How could, with a flash like a blink, memories flicker through my vision as if my transistor radio had suddenly happened upon a past I knew well?

Ashram Day 3 (day 1406)

Rain has a tendency to wash away all thought,
To make tomorrow clean and unmistakeably fresh.
Somewhat similar to every morning,
When waking up,
To accept daylight as if a young child;
New life and chance upon a path
Joined together with some answers,
Some direction,
And much more desire and openness
To find the next step forth.

As tears roll down sunlight’s fingers,
Only self can find shade
To silence what always will be
Into motionless innocence
That plays along the shore
With buckets full of sand.

A Horticulturalists Dream (day 1161)

Summer air and little drops
That puddle jump night to sleep.
From every lair come out great worms
Slithering through fresh mud.
Slugs depart on epic journeys
Across deep dark blacktop oceans.
And as all things growing
Most desire
Freshness from great rains,
Morning brings what can be called
A horticulturalists most desirable dream.

Awakeless Surrender (day 1121)

Glaciers awoke my surrender.
I am not a window shopper,
A figureless void of deadly consistence
That scrapes along the expanse
Of doubly criss-crossed salt scapes;
Littered emptiness.
Vast emptiness
Crawling up the back of my spine,
Lightly dusted with ten days rolling.
This is the heartbeat.
The beat.
The heartbeat, beating.
Surrender in a tight grip.
Moments before forbidden flavor
Hits the freshness of thy tongue.
Laughter in childern.
Sounds of awoken footsteps,
And I am not crawling.

Dragging Left Wing | Chapter IV (day 940)

X

We were like kids, all day long sleeping around in nothing but our underwear and blankets that twisted and rumpled us into our own magic land of wanderlust. Between our carnal moments of pure passion I’d feed her citrus fruits that would sting the sin off our tongues. There was no Western movie script office, no bills pulling at our wallets, no jealousy, no wandering, no eager eyes or the next best thing. We did complete each other.

We were hustlers and lovers. Not gangsters. We didn’t thump our rap in our chrome rimmed mobiles, we didn’t include bling in our vocabulary. We were class that believed in perfumes, curls, a kimono, shoes that announced ones arrival, low light, martinis.

In the evening she’d sit around reading from books like Understanding Witchcraft, Seduction, How to Love a Man, and Being a Proper Housewife. We’re talking stuff straight from prohibition era, when a suit and tie was what real men wore to the bar, not ripped up jeans and a backwards hat.

From time to time she’d get up and stretch the largest stretch I’ve ever seen. She was a Yogini, so it was desire to watch her bend as she did. Her breath would catch with mine and I’d flow with her qi. Mostly I think she was weaving her spells she’d just read about, leading me into a place I really didn’t mind being at. She’d eye me, and flip me that focused kind of smile.

‘Service with a smile’ was her favorite saying. She’d come back into the bedroom with a plate full of some delicacy she had just concocted and beam with those words written on her mouth. I would always laugh, eager to see what my next feeding would entail. Never let down.

XI

She would leave that bed when it was her time to work. It was always a rush because we’d both hold off until the very last minute to get ready, keeping our naked skin touching that so pleased us both.

She was one fine specimen of the female variety. I would crawl up and down just at the very thought of her being. I would coo softly when I’d get to hold onto her hips. It was hard for me to tell whether it was this very act or another more carnal act that pleased me so. The pure thought of it sends my heart into emotional fluttering. Often I’d watch her dancing around the room with transparent fabrics lightly floating around her as she moved [for me].

XII

My favorite time of season was the autumn. The time of season when the fresh bright greens and floral yellows and purples and reds would fade away into earthy tones of death and decay. I’m not sadistic; it’s a time of connection to life and death. Pure. The anticipation of winter’s cold, the preparation for warmer clothes. Closing the windows and sweeping the sidewalk and laying bare all trees that stand in mother natures way. A transition we have no control over. Serenity.

Julia would pull out her old mukluks to wear around the bare wooden floors of the apartment. With these and her panties on I could hardly stop myself from enveloping her. Exploding with a passion aching to jump out of my skin and hunger for more. She knew this, and would smile uncontrollably when she knew this was where I was at. I never left her wondering, she had asked me not to.

Do you know what it’s like to have an unbridled passionate outlet, matched ebb and flow for carnal desires?

[note: to read full epic follow dragging left wing]

Fresh Scent (day 764)

My feet, stripped and bare
Cooling in the fresh mountain stream
Two dogs about me
Shaking away the fresh feeling
Water, licking my shins
And getting colder
Fresh scent of the familiar
Cloves and horse shit
But it’s summer
And this is the stuff that feels good

Share It, and Smile (day 755)

Have you ever had one of those mornings
Where you wake up, fresh and ready to go?
Sun greeting you with a smile
Dog with a wag of his tail…

You know, one of those mornings
When the blender blends it all
Without even one single stir
And you remember to put the lime in

Like the feeling of putting on
A fresh pair of underwear
Pulling up the favorite pants
With a very white undershirt

Or like a great hair day
When looking in the mirror
Is simply compulsive
From all angles

It’s hard to find those mornings
But when you do
When it’s within your hands
Share it, and smile

Forever After (day 711)

Silent wishes drift upon my heart
Lifting the spirits of unnamed maidens
Cooling the late evenings breeze
To just about long pant weather
My mind washes over the condensatingly
Fresh glass of beer
While the sun drifts lazily behind the horizon
Like the wandering bumblebee
Long shadows form, reaching out in desperation
Away from the dying sun
Projecting from the adjoint plane
Between the erect tree and well watered grass
And I drift lazily off into dreams of the future
Following love forever after