Your cosmic dust roars around my fire
Spinning vortexes before my eyes
That gasp and exhale
As a thunderous Goddess
Taking solace in this darkened dance
Excitedly played upon the wall.
How good it feels, your warmth
That laps at the edges of my own sanity,
Spinning, my thoughts reach out
Grabbing your dangling hairs
While my ecstasy builds
So as to be just like the moon
Whom calls each of our moments home.
Tag: sanity
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.
My Windows Remind Me (day 1808)
I couldn’t cry, no,
For sin overtook me
Made comfort my own clothes
Wriggling ounces
Of my humane sanity
To a slow beat of a bass drum.
My windows worked
To remind me
How little I ever understood,
How uncomfortable
I surely would yet become.
Gone (day 493)
Gone is the sanity that I have rested upon
Gone is the broken wing I have mended so long
Gone is the eye of love, heralded with steel
Gone is the breakers edge, chariots wheel
Gone is the mystery of histories story
Gone is the evidence in a place of once glory
Gone is the solitude enjoyed in the park
Gone is the morning call, a flick and a spark
Gone is the choke ring about my own neck
Gone is the control once held at my beck
Gone is the grass I’ve laid with my own two hands
Gone is the bitter truth that never parts from these lands
Clouds (day 416)
The clouds that cover the outlets
Form mysteries about the faint, winter breaths
Whispering echos across the hallways and through closed doors
Crawling up to the open windows that mark the edges of sanity
Sleek metal surfaces cause symbolic reverberations
Nestling their way through the gates of that which is never closed
Gone are the ribbons that present the pretty box
Lost long ago with the mermaids that kicked and swam deeper
Homemade (day 279)
Homemade in the ethical sense of the world
In the sense that pulls at our sleeves
In the sense that reigns in the whole body
Lets go the ruthless edges of sanity
Into the most repulsive, otherwise ordinary
Seemingly positive, but cordoned off
Regions of my mind
Regions of my body that lurch forward
With the thick scent of another blown anatomy check
Pitted against the random notes
Of unfamiliar strangers
Pitted against the sanity
Of the only race regarded for their treacherous
Angles of sacrilege
Don’t trust the empty can
Don’t believe in the full one
Don’t listen to wise words
With half the mind for progress
Feel the homemade ethical sprout
Feeding deep within thy soul
Feel the sense of the world
As you bend down and look deep
Hold your hand out for the mother of the age
For the senseless wonders
Each and every breath takes from you
With baited breath
Like the newborn kicking for air
Stick out your tongue and bear it proudly
Bring back the novelty in the insane cruelty
Which latches itself onto the rounded
Edges of your hourly wage
Survival of the fittest
When the homemade and ethical dribble
Fall, and the sprout of our progress
Shadows (day 275)
Cool nights like these are the ones that seek my own sanity
Deep within the pipe whistle that blares out these two toned ears
Like the sharp edges that cut this time so
Perhaps the shadows will be a bit more forgiving
With their loss of dimensions
All willy nilly changing to the motion of light
Sometimes here, sometimes there
Sometimes falling in a steady glow about your gaze
Transfixed into the lost souls that speak forgotten tongues
Yet work the windows like Jack Frost in the waking hour
Don’t mind that scratching sound now
Don’t mind those omnipresent shadows
Don’t mind the strange noises crawling down your spine
Don’t forget to say your prayers tonight
Still Alone (day 231)
Your love
Frothing at the mouth like an innocent child
Capturing little bits of humanity
In the deep holes of sanity
Innocently proven
Archaic amongst the spellbound
Glistening like the deep cold waters of the full moon
Only shortly lived, disturbed in a quick splash
Go ahead
Run the rivers wild into the jungle deep
Call out crazy like the impossible memories
Green and charming, still alone
