Red Racer (day 2300)

I have lost my edges in a red racer
I leaned out too far
Forgot a weekend of fun
Down a long dirt road
I didn’t think had much luck.
This is turning into a solo trick
Dancing with midnight
Of an half empty glass
Melting in the tune of E flat.
But wind blows through trees here,
Heavens sing here,
And visions keep reminding me
I’m not a poor man anymore
I’ve left my home and I’m moving on
Down another dusty road home.

Tumbling (day 2288)

I’m walking on this tumbling
This effortless feeling
Ignored and exposed
And here I am in truth
Still doing the wrong thing
I’m alone and the wind is blowing
While ravens keep circling
With your back turned to me
Flying high with toes on the ground
In love of this soul
And I’m down down down
Your dusty trail
In this tumbling carry on
On this rumbling road song.

Rain – part III (day 2263)

(part II)

He said he was heading to Lawrence town
His maw and paw grew up there
And they’d just passed on
Said he hadn’t eaten in two days
Been on the long road straight through.
I said I had some boiled eggs
That I’d share
I suggested they might be better
Than the raw ones
Said he didn’t mind much
But would be much oblidged of them.
The chickens were healthy
Plenty eggs a day to share.
Still cautious,
I decided I would invite him in
As I boiled a few more eggs for him
For his long journey, long road
Especially as it rained
I figured he’d like the warmth.

part IV

Laborous Love (day 2220)

I want to love you so laboriously
A weight ten thousand Sherpas
Could hardly carry.

Each step would be unforgiving
My knees would creak with each movement
My face constantly a sweat
Dust from my hard road clinging to my smile.

Your words to me
Would surely move mountains
And I, faithful laborer
Headband keeping my forehead dry
Would cease not for a moments rest.

With your company I would be speechless
Your presence would cause my stutter to grow
Delicately I would choose each word
Slowly spelled out in love.

Inside my stomach would be a maze of butterflies
Every time I would see your eyes,
My heart clocking in overtime
At a full time love affair.

I want to love you so laboriously
Your day would be like sunshine
Slowly rocking in a cool breeze
Of our garden orchard I would always tend.

Tightly Packed (day 2146)

I held a spoonful close to my mouth
Sips of whatever I had coming again
Tightly packed for a business trip
In a car with four doors
Fingertips and a medicine bottle
And a spoon held for too long.

Take me down a river road
Cottonwoods and wheeping willows
Blowing in the wind
Long lamented tailwind signaled
Our swift departure – forward
With an essence upon my lips
Holding on to my silver moon.

Speedball to Portugal (day 2101)

I woke up nowhere fast
Speedball to Portugal
A painful memory state
Sin on my mother name
Let’s make a peaceful game
Nineteen seventy eight
Luxury automobile
And I am filled with golden rays of sun
Nurturing my breastfeeding heart
So I didn’t check my baggage
Left my panties in my purse
Kept the door behind me open
And kissed deeply.

– afterthought –
The man I left I had become
On the road and in my head
Aeroplane has come again
Touchdown I’m not the same.

Moon at Midnight – Part I (day 1975)

There was no moon at midnight
And my road was clambering on
I saw what appeared to be shadows
But from what direction I could not see the source
Nor could I understand their movement
For my breath was beating strongly
Inside my mind that couldn’t sit still.

They say whenever you’re lonely
To hug a tree in the woods,
That everything will be better
Once you listen to the wind through leaves.
But my footsteps weren’t taking me there
My trees were full of eyes
That growled when I got too close
My fire had died down to a whisper
Which danced away upon every breath
That beat so wildly inside.

I tried turning my back to the fire
So I could let my eyes adjust to darkness
Cold dampness swept into my chest
That left my fingers clinching at the dirt
I sat cross-legged on ash
That was surely trying to make it’s way
Up the inside of my leg
Like slowly crawling worms
With no direction home.
My fingers felt like dust
Long gone into a night with no end.

Slowly my eyes began to make out a hue of indigo
Through the trees that crept ever closer
With a faint scent of a silhouette
That began to sing me a song
Reminding me of Joan Baez singing acapella
Which always led me to Bob Dylan
And one of his nearly alarming harmonica solos.
Stars began to blink at me
Through gusting fog that sped
As fast as the dying harmonica sounds.

I could begin to see markings
Upon the bark of the nearest Douglas Fir trees
Bark so thick that my hands impulsively
Rubbed each other
Acutely feeling dusty skin on the back of my hands
As life began to seep back into them,
Shocked one too many times
From the dark night that lay behind.

I pulled my wool blanket closer
Remembering I am a warrior
I am made of two hard feet
That carry me on through a winding
Needle covered path
Weaving past lagoons and over boulders
Over roots and upon grass
Sometimes lost and always home
And rusty feathers settled beside me
Wishing me goodnight, so I fell asleep.

part II

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Down Turned Reverberations (day 1912)

You know, it’s ok.

It doesn’t matter that the sky seems to fall when you stretch your eyes wide at the beginning of a new day. It doesn’t matter that the tangle in your heart matches the tangle of your long, curly, brown hair drooping about your itchy nose as you fling from side to side with a worn out cactus shirt reaching down to the same legs you rest your morning coffee on.

I’ve found a reason that doesn’t rely on these silly momentary things. I’ve found the silk road, pock marked by moths with an unsettling history that left a lot of sad pages in the brown covered diary I’ve never re-read. I’ve begun to maneuver this silk pressing just as I would walking through busy streets or desert, dry mouthed and heart fleeting as beats reverberate off of every single thought.

It’s ok.

It’s a revolution that cannot get taken away, it’s the dull side of a newly sharpened axe. How many rows have you planted to become the star lit sky we all look up to; arms are better for hugging then the cold glass walls modern giants embed their soldiers within.

You’re not the only one with down turned memories of what we could never see, never hear, never even share from the distance we watch each other from – but our morning smells seem to remind us of nothing but the closeness we have; but evening silence is a feeling we so easily forgive.

It’s ok, and I’m never really very far.