Rounded Rocks (day 2631)

Into a river my thoughts began
Rolling about rounded rocks
Like thunder crashing in the hills
I saw them swim away
Then my eyes began to drift
To the edge in shallow water
Reeds of various lengths abound
Floating happily amidst the mirth
Bubbles emerged from deep within
Darkness shadowed far regions
And to my mind, tranquility
A smile to my lips did return.

Sheets in Pages (day 1747)

I could write your pages onto sheets of my unkempt bed
Slowly cycling the in-seam with the hem,
And rolling each corner up like a cigarette to smoke slowly
Because love here is so thick it’s impassable;
Between eyes of surrender and a heart of
I’m never letting go.
So I blot my pen into deep white sensories
Circumnavigating each prior night’s creases – expertly –
Until my final stroke has been felt and embraced
As if it were written upon thy own lined back.

Rolling Circles (day 1580)

I am beginning to observe this once again,
One two three one two three one two three.
And your elegance makes my romance
Waltz as a leaf in autumn’s light breeze.

Let this hand be lead for thee,
One two three one two three one two three.
And my pen write again because
Circles rolling down these widening streets.

“Late,” said the bus to a leaning signpost,
One two three one two three one two three.
And if recollections could be the bumblebee
Sun would soak yellow into sands of our memory.

Long Drive (day 1506)

You were a long drive
Along an empty highway
Through Boise, Idaho
At a quarter after 10;
Cool night air flowing in,
Rock music flowing out.
You were coming home tonight
But you’re not coming home tonight.
You are the noisy lily-pond
As stars sing out goodnight.
Long drive rolling home.

Harmonizing (day 1027)

For all that I could remember, for all I could ever remember, for all the times that I dusted off my aching knees to build up my power of love that thrust my gold into the clear blue skies; it was all I was, all I cared to be, all I had dreamed of being, all that was allowed to rest – to be the remnants of some hard played game digging into worn parts of my gloves.

For without these delightful glories (curdling my cream and harmonizing my deep south Presbyterian choir) I was merely a soldier. A hard edged, fine tuned, stainless steel blade of America’s finest earth (plus of course the blood, sweat, and rock hard fists heft my direction). Hardly left a consequence upon my check-marked debriefing.

Here I stood in future’s year, inhaling deep to remember what it felt like laying on the freshly mowed grass in the heat of summer, slow moving cars rolling along manicured gravel. An itch, creeping in and lingering a while as momma’s freshly squeezed – and heavily iced – lemonade tinkled around inside a transparent and sweating summer repair.

But now I wasn’t heading here or there. I wasn’t coming or going. I wasn’t even known amongst the squirrels and bluejays and Chester, the neighbor’s dog, had wilting flowers.

You cannot crush what once lived inside a boy. A man can not fall flat and lie upon his back and let these thoughts turn and turn and turn without the understanding of what has come to pass. Much like Tchaikovsky’s flurrying madness, torrent thoughts arrest my secret moments until the uneven dice with blank looking stares roll the number five five times in a row. To end a second chapter but never ending. Never an end. Never to be ended.

Without knowing then, I was knocking at a door I had left without looking back. A door that still had a mesh pane to keep out the flies. A door that creaked and banged shut no matter how slow it was released. A door that acted as the liaison between country folk and their well meaning manner. A door that punctuated my knocking and brought old – as in aging – footsteps squinted hard to recognize the stranger the stood just on the other side.

Thundering Train (day 30)

Slow down ol’ ground up meat
Roll along the system of sultry
Hope the sands crawl slower
May every whistle blow quieter
Along the restless matches
Slowly burning the translucent time
Gaining a rhyme against the moon
Thundering down the grassiest slopes
A rolling begins to sway this tune

Rolling (day 11)

Exciting elaborence of twisted tangles
Following the rivers of nostalgia and indulgence
Tampering the side effects of sickening reverence
Slide. Slide with it and glide.

Divine, prosper and prophecize with siblings
Ranting and raving at disgruntled earthlings
Disgusted with the forgotten underlings
Roll. Roll with it and glide.

Take your time and flick the coward
Maybe the disturbance will move forward
Laughing and following and lack of regard
Heavy. Heavy with it and glide