To Proceed (day 2488)

I’ve been wondering what the curve of your hips feels like
Watching it sway about the room from my perch
While I lazily ignore the whims of this busy world
Taking you away from me now.
I reach out at every chance I get, of course,
A squeeze that so leaves me enchanted…
And of our conversation while your rainbow of smells
Fill my soul with emotions and memories,
Yet filled with rich vibrancy of time,
That I’ve been counting from me to you
Like flowers in a sunny, afternoon stroll
Through a field that makes me jealous
(Holding memories it so caresses)
Where my feet find sturdy ground to proceed.

For Not Latent Desire (day 2471)

I don’t know how to say I love you
Without loving you entirely, Lisa
I pace back and forth in my room
Questioning myself like a mathematician
Struggling out the answer to
A deepened understanding.
Some days it’s ok, I can love you
Without desiring the distance we’ve never had,
The whisper in your ear,
The smile that finds your lips
Too close to mine for latent desire
Stirring within the very breath I take.
So I love you with trembling fingers
Tentatively resisting your jungleness,
I love you though I’m calculating
With a pen I’m expertly etching
A solution to you entirely open
On a boat in the great wide ocean.

Moon at Midnight – Part VIII (day 1982)

(part VII)

I helped Amy and Frank chop wood for five days
In exchange for…
Well, I guess it would be food and board
But I was mostly staying for the company
As they were both such enjoyable humans to be around
And their two lazy dogs, Rudd and Jip,
That I still don’t understand why
They weren’t the first to greet me
And Claire, who I nicknamed Clarinet
On account of my sweet mother’s favorite instrument
Who was the child I had heard Amy speaking to
Upon my arrival.

They came from the South
Frank’s old man was a cattle baron down there
Whose ruthless ways, along with his two brothers
Had driven his kind heart out of there
Before he found himself crazy
Kind enough to send him off with
His share of the ranch, though
Amy was his sweetheart
And probably had a lot to do with his tenderness
Having been in love since they were thirteen
Holding hands in the pews at the Sunday sermons.

Amy was the only daughter of the towns only Doctor
She was tall and kind
And treated everything she came in contact with
As if it were the most precious thing around
Yet balanced it with just the right amount of sternness
That kept any good family working smoothly
Her parents missed her dearly
And came to visit once a year after the thaw
To check on the health of the family.

Had I set my heart out to build a more perfect house
I don’t think I’d have been able to
The patio afforded a view
Stretching out in front of the house
Down the meadow to the small stream
At the far end
The exterior had board and batten
Of pine that Frank had meticulously fired
Into a most beautiful looking color
Inside, Amy’s oven was perfectly stoked
To afford just enough heat to boil a pot of tea
But not enough to break a sweat
Which sat on the kitchen side of the middle of the main room
And on the far side were two rooms
One for Amy & Frank
And the other for their planned family
That currently was filled with household items
Amy needed close at hand
A sturdy table Frank had built
One met on the right just as they entered the house
And to the left upon the wall
Was where shoes were left and coats hung
And following along was storage
And more chairs to see to it
That no guest was left standing at the door.

part IX

Spoons of Sorrow (day 1959)

When I walk into an empty room
When I reach my palms for the sky
As essence, I’m a ghost
And sunrise brings tomorrow
With ten thousand spoons of sorrow.

I am a prophet in a rose
With two hands tied by thorns,
Fence posts painted white
Along dew kissed morning lawns.

When I sit amidst thousand year old trees
When I wave crookedly in heaven’s winds
My heart becomes a dead leaf
Integrating so effortlessly into a path
Dust to soil to earth to spring.

So long shall my stalk bend
Two ends of a hemp string crossed,
Seeds falling on gray wood
And harvest moon is my birth.

The Ruin (day 1742)

Empty pill bottles slammed into the rusty cages of my heart
Leading my hopelessness on a two part story,
Part 1: The Ruin
Part 2: The End.
I’m sympathetic to wasps that buzz around my head as I divert my pure thoughts,
Only had I known their tapping of my consciousness could harness heaven,
For I was scrubbing furiously with a wire brush
To scrape every last bit of rust from my hopes.

A Hazy Memory (day 1304)

Whispering as the highway rolled on
Curling around giant pillars
To big to divert.

Azur shades reflected memories
That hazed along waves of transilluminescence.

Small shapes far off in the distance
Brought imagination to present
That click-clocked believable thought.

Dusty blankets draped loosely
Over tall shoulders held proud,
Warm tea wafting around the room.

And an old dusty broom
Leaned lifelessly up against the
Wire mesh make-shift windows.

Flat e (day 1215)

There’s an undercurrent of pressure
Rolling around like two dollars
In a drunk-night saloon.
I’m making headway on flesh insight
With no time to spare.
Gin’s hovering around
Whispering sweet nothings in my ear
And two dollars keep talking to me.
Two dollars.
Two lone shooting guns
Winking at me from the corner of the room.
I’m lost in a swimming pool
And walking down main street
Whistling a sad song to a lover
Who’s missing from my arm tonight.
It’s a long walk fishing out these memories
With my flat E ringing through
Cobblestones and lampshades,
Dubious shadows I’m not stopping to
Make friends with.
Two dollars.
I’ve made my peace here tonight.
My undercurrent of pressure
Hanging low with the full moon
That’s grabbing at my coattails
As I make my way toward the exit sign.

Dragging Left Wing | Chapter II (day 923)

IV

Ritual is what makes us so easy to perceive. But she pulled me away from what had always been designed; a teacher of thought and logic, of expression, of impression on my mind. But she was young and full of piss which drove me up the wall. After-all, what was I but a callused sitting stone washing away in the early light of a new winters day. My teeth were clinched and dragging along my feet I made my way up the paisley covered silk pressed firmly on the wall.

[I didn’t mind that she had taken over the top drawer of my burgundy chest of drawers, I didn’t mind that I found her panty-hose draped about my table lamps and the backs of my chairs. In fact, it added to my manliness, it fit right in with my Winchester typewriter – half filled with mumblings I had managed to emit amidst the booze and fucking and freezing air that curled my lungs up into a gait so tight I forced my thoughts to relax the fingers on my mind]

But she was there, full naked visage to luxuriate my mind into a casual saunter amongst peacock feathers, top hats, rhinestones, and suits with chain watches and glittering eyes with too much joviality. I had no choice in this matter, not like I cared one damn bit about the mess she enjoyed making of my bed. She, like I, was full of eyes that pulsed – praying for something she didn’t know how to verbalize, a feeling she didn’t know how to mentalize, a desire she didn’t know how to materialize. Her eyes searched the bottom of empty tumblers, her eyes found the cobwebs reaching out for life, her eyes danced with the streams of light that flickered through the room catching elements of history that spread like the lost ghosts echoing through our minds.

We dove into our fury like lovers we’d always wanted to be. We pushed those warning thoughts to the backs of our minds so we could hardly lay trace casual thoughts that appeared on our tongues. Life was good like this, it lacked the severity of the dying grid that forced mothers to sell their children for some sweet pudding and a souvenir to take home and place so thoughtfully on the pathetic mantle of desire’s dream. Neither of us was following this path, nor ever dreamed we would, for it was a withering dream fed by fat pockets, a machine that mimic’d zoo-keepers begging city council for more tax money to feed the wild and elusive buffalo they hunted for pass-time with foreign dignitaries.

V

I crawled out from that room and tip-toed down the wooden hallway laid flat with fading rose carpet that left spaces between it’s dying glory and that crushing 90 degrees up. Striped wall paper marked unevenly by portraits of bygone entrepreneurs.

[this is what we had taken to calling those devils who thought nothing of selling their souls for profit, that crude and lewd crowd that scantilized fashions and sourced the inner most pleasures of human soul. Even animals treasured the pure delight and unrelenting pursuit this basket-case crowd so freely expressed]

From the roof hung cob-webbed chandeliers bought at the nickel-and-dime store half a block away. “They look good,” is all we could say every time we traced these steps, giggling to ourselves. We didn’t care, our world didn’t depend upon such trivial matters of the outside world, of such trivialities so coveted by the people we laughed ourselves to sleep about. Gutteral expressions that splashed around the ivory colored ceramics.

I thought deeply about the sound of my wooden healed shoes echoing around my mind’s voice, shifting glances and kindling old romances while strutting with poise. I winked and nodded back to the gaping voids, the children of my finesse. I am neatly hand drawn, sculpted with imagination, created with the artful eye that dares to draw outside the lines.

[but oh, I thought about the land I came from. The cold street corners with auto-mo-biles and two-bit barber-inos, with fancy ladies strutting on knockoff stilettos practicing their how-ya-doin looks. Nostalgia is a soft sword when it piques the tendons of your heart]

VI

I never knew to meet her, but I always met her there. I always stopped and stared and waited until she could find me through the haze. She knew it too – she confessed one intimate night – all smiles and flutters and oh-yes-it’s-him stares. I liked those moments, letting it sink in, letting the leaves fall to the ground after upsetting them in air. Without fail, a smile the spread into a softly blown kiss so thick I could breathe it in and heavily let it curse through my veins. This was the tingly moments I came to love and learn.

I found casually my sorted seat, to file away my thoughts. A square-topped desk with hash marks set deep within its long history as a peacemaker, a romance kindler, an easy ledge upon which to sit as orders filled the air. It wasn’t so big that I could harbor much company and still keep my affairs in order, so luckily I carried my leather bound estate about to sort up my rapport – so easily spread about the square that I’d begun to call my post.

[visitors were few in such an office – as much as my notoriety was known – though they did come and disturb my thought in the heat of its best battles. The drunken fools who’d had too much were often such throwers of folly, but hardly I, who’d set up here, could curse them what they’d bear]

[note: to read full epic follow dragging left wing]

In From The Rain (day 153)

Excuse me as I step in here a minute
Take my mind away, my load off
Shake loose this gripping cold
Retreat from this drenching wind

My, is that a copy of the paper?
Oh, it’s a very nice warmth in this room
I’ll take a tea please
If you don’t mind, a scone too please

Well, this was nice
I had a great stay
The tea was good
And the scone was as I’d hoped

But, as all good things
Must come to an end
So must I depart
And brave this dreadful weather