To William Lee (day 2719)

I know why you ran so far away
Not a scene could do for you
The world rambled some unfathomable blithe
And your vision clouded from contempt
Ever growing greed – lost seed
Lemonade stinking in the shade
Yellow circle glasses and a leftover jacket
Naked in soggy rows of an everglade.

I would also run away to the other side
Liberties are assumed and everybody’s ruined
And each land war is solved with a knife.
I would carry on in my inevitable way
No job calling me to pay taxes aside
Just like a hooker in the park and dark lines on her eyes
With a leather jacket man stopping by again
A bag in his hand and a promising grin;
Feeling empty again, night’s unwavering sin.

Though I tell ya William, I wouldn’t have shot the gun
I wouldn’t have taken aim again,
Party tricks and everyone’s looks
Southern games that nobody wins
Makes a man lost into the void.
But if you’d ask me to sing you a son.
Don’t expect it to sound like something you’d want to hear,
I’ll build and collapse and spit at it too
But that’s the price we pay, damn it every day.

Reminded (day 2210)

You were not broken as I was;
Your only guiding star
Screamed out to remind me
Fresh as I may have been
It was never free to me.
Dark jackets cloaking sadness,
Salty waves lapping
At what you reminded me
And my opening held on to
Hands tattooed in braille.
Then your smile came,
Clouds parted,
And all that you had reminded me
Transformed as you had
‘For my eyes
Leaving dusty bits
Growing at the sides
Until you reminded me.

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.

Float (day 197)

Float on the brackets and the new vectors
Float on the myriad of reverberations
Who’re
Tucked neatly inside the folds of your worn, brown jacket

Float with the wings of the countless
Float with the angles of omega
Who’re
Tucked neatly inside the folds of your worn, brown jacket

Float along the musty banks of hallowed rivers
Float along the degenerating plastic islands
Who’re
Tucked neatly inside the folds of your worn, brown jacket

Float through the cold towers with screeching edges
Float through the unrequited laughing faces
Who’re
Fighting to be neatly folded inside your worn, brown jacket