Heavy Tread (day 2609)

My mountain comes into my cove
Of which I heavily tread
For no one knows that which I bare
No one knows my comst soul
Yet even in the deepest hour
My glow is never failed
My strongest tie can never loose
Muscles taught against the threat.

Long shall each heavy stride
Call thy legs at thou lookout
This brow upon my strengthened neck
Carries an outlook built on sweat
And living within this absolute
Blisters each creak I’ve ever known
That rests when day’s toil’s been had
When Sun bids the sky adieu.

The Bane of Fullness (day 2470)

I don’t want to hold onto this enormous feeling.
A Skeptic once said the past isn’t present,
So let us believe that a fullness isn’t real
(A limit we reach where we can no longer give, share, believe),
Let this feeling take us on a tenderness stroll
Like sheer cotton shading giant pillows we lounge upon,
Meandering through ancient streets and wild forests
Where we stop at every third park bench we pass
To sit closely and pretend we’re still consciously speaking
In syllables that reason can understand and explain,
For to me your words speak in gestures only my ears
– And perhaps the dear sweet Cupid who so cleverly pinned us –
Can fully grasp at, mingled so heavily with vibrant lips
My eyes cannot escape being entranced by,
And breath mine hairs can feel so warmly upon
With your gentle yet firm fingers ever so delicately
Squeezing a new pattern into mine palm of eternity.
I want to hold onto you, the back of your neck with softest of curls
As our lips mean to share what we’ve intoned of a feeling,
Forgetting for brief moments our shooting star madness
And living a while longer by the bane of our senses.

A Thought to Darkness (day 2419)

Alone I walked into the sea
To bare my naked chest
I stood here staring into darkness
And no voice returned back at me
No cry was heard from my mouth
No quiver upon my lip
For virtue had led me to here
Neither shame nor blame held me
And to this eye I stared right back
No wrong turn had been made
My toil left me up to my neck
My strength helped me breathe.

Freckles and Moles (day 2378)

What would it feel like to have your neck in my lips
Your skin so close to my heartbeat.
Would your eyes look up at mine
From the top of your conscious gaze?
Would it be your fingertips or mine
Tracing entangled veins, tender areas
Upon a dreamscape of freckles and moles
A back opening up like hidden pages of a precious diary.
Would we’d twist and roll
Like two logs in a well kept fire
Burning as slow as we could
So each new ember could linger upon our tongues?
Would sensations erupt here?
Down our traced spines
While our roots began to slowly grow tighter
In a full surrender to our nature.

Of Delicacy (day 1820)

To wish away cruelness
Tap against night’s rain
Linger in a soft gaze
Float about a name.

A paw against green grass
Sound amidst deep silence
Precious moments first awake
Gospel of harmony.

Hand upon arching back
Soul touch tingling neck
Gaze upon a sweet moon
Mist upon dark sea.

Of Delicacy by Ned Tobin

Frost (day 1592)

Where are my eyes,
The sad fellows singing heart songs
Along icy Nordic roads
To the beat of thump thump thump –
Hard footsteps to control
As solid Mother Earth
Shuts down her blooming
To awaken the underbelly of life
That slowly crawls in vein-like formations
Through all things
Dead or alive.
Where are my eyes
That I have not let sing
But needlessly fret over wrinkled sheets,
Ignoring the awakening world
In a thin veiled frost,
Laid out as if the spine of her neck
Were strangely tingling
Alerting her of tragedy.
Where are my eyes?

Frost by Ned Tobin

Stepping Out (day 1538)

This takes time.
Your neck scratches
Twist heroin like
Spirals towards starlight.
Your heavy steps
Nick solid wood,
Pick pocking veneer
With thumbtacks
For random acts.
Your tight lips
Close proud moments up
With smeared lipstick
That’s left on
Too many strangers.
This takes time
To get this way,
And it takes time
To step out.

Safety Net (day 1471)

My safety net has developed holes,
It’s begun to sink with rising tides
That are bringing plastics and driftwood
Into the already discombobulated foray
Of pinks, greens, oranges, and dust.
My dental-floss fixes promote algae
In places I don’t want algae.

Is this growth?
Have I become burdened with my own safety
To the point I’m now over my neck
And flailing for life?
Is this harmonious with progress,
Or is this the definition of distraction?
I recognize I’m becoming dizzy.