Sloshing suction
Filling holes
Trickle down my nose
Tag: nose
Bottle Bumping Lambs (day 2493)
Warm powdered milk
Nuzzling nose
Maternal bond
Aftershock (day 2389)
Did you survive the aftershock?
I never heard from you again
I waited at lookout point
Afraid my leaping heart
I asked how could I fly
Settled down like MaryLou
Talking through my stiffening nose
Little rainbow blow
Chapter running to my toes
Did you survive the aftershock?
Two Drops of Sun (day 2231)
Two drops of sunlight
Touched my nose today
Remind me of each footstep
We took together
Across each softened craggy rock
To the ancient sea so cold
Low we crawled on all four limbs
To brave into the depth
A slimy plunge
Such great refresh!
And dried by two drops of sun
Window Drops (day 2171)
Along the ways of window drops
A bird flew out the nest
Cloud came to my very door
And my hair lay flattened down.
Yet every signal
East be at it’s back
Signaled me to rise above
What midnight I had not looked back.
Nor did my animosity
Rumble to a stop
A grinding halting dusty jalopy
My chariot of grim time.
True, each dirt splash lay bare
The deeper grit of sand
Which held my flower to my nose
Thus, bow down low I dearly bade.
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.
White Blues (day 1921)
It was late, early as the birds wake. The sun making it’s trajectory project through blind slits that tickled my nose and ruffled pure white sheets that smelled of everything I had ever dreamed. I wished I had worn my own button up so she could wear it, cotton thoughts underneath the purest thoughts I could believe, her ear lobe dangerously close to my sanity I buried deep into the sleepy eyes she wiped away.
She was business and I was coffee on Sunday morning. Her ancient wooden bowls with carved and stained mosaics sat on bare shelves between three curiously new vinyl records I had yet to identify or spin, so my bare feet sadly ripped spaces beside this cocoon to leave invisible heat scores on a treasure hunt around pieces of clothing that each had still alive memories attached, each a little puddle of our reserve that began as we stepped towards our island.
As the needle scratched dangerously towards the first note, it was the crackling that trumped even her cigarette into casual, I spotted her pinstripe skirt, now draped across the wicker chair underneath a baby blue Fender Telecaster she had plugged into a tiny hand held amplifier to show me what she knew of blues.
I propped myself up with her pillow and through the patio window I saw she was looking at me.
Impatient Midnight (day 1851)
A cloud pulled at my ear lobes
And took my tingling nose
To an open pasture –
Exposed and sunken into slumber –
Tip-tapped drearily by menacing trinkets
And coo’ed at softly from a shallow hallow
Where an owl waited for midnight’s feast
With an impatient air.
Ocean Air (day 1828)
To breathe the first breath of ocean air
Deep into my starving lungs
As sun dips down to half past seven
I realize the tide’s becoming.
Even with my toes exposed
I find salt refreshingly tickling my nose,
Seagulls cry in celebration
And driftwood leads me forever on.
I roll my pants to half mast
And whistle to a little snail
Who’s slowly off to go out sailing
And I, my eye, to the clear blue sky.
Beautiful People (day 1824)
Why are people so beautiful?
Some days the ruin of my heart
Lingers upon my tongue
And touches my nose with the faintest scent
Of midsummer’s rain.
I cannot handle this pain
In the easiest of ways,
Waiting for my touch to return
And senses to die down.
For I am only a man,
Saddened by a never ending toil of life
To which I patch holes
With beautiful people in my heart.
