My Chin (day 2226)

A cheap drink rolled down my chin
As I lay motionless
Stuck in a window of thought
With a naked Lady hugging my shoulder
Purring softly with a story I’m not listening to.

My eyes remember a hot evening smell
Coming from the loins of love
When I licked what I wanted to
And kissed all the rest,
Passion I long ago learned to evoke
Just like my firm grip
Of the buttox of my lover.

Drawn back in with her heat, her arousal
By a finger drawing figures I’m left guessing about on my chest
I smell her hair, tucked beneath my chin
And remember the cigar I had smoked earlier
How it had lingered in my nostrils and danced with smoke
She looked at me and kissed the liquor from my chin
Whispering words I’ve love her for madly.

No More Trees, Money’s For Me (day 2064)

It’s ok that we cut down these trees for warmth
Let’s not get upset about our mountain
Turned crater, shipped to the moon,
Our water is a good memory, a clean memory
A clean memory for my dry lips
Afraid of this purple water
Maybe my dinosaur bones will take me home
To a land full of ten year old trees
Where water flushes the land clean
No more dirty top soil: eroded,
Home where the magical golden clouds
Hover just above the skyline, stinking
And water is just slightly brown
Mycelia? No, my bill fold needs more dinosaur bones
To sink into these fresh water lakes
Chopsticks, chopsticks, chopsticks trees
Get these poles off to the mill
Down that road of rubber and oil
More dinosaur bones and I’m ready to kill
Floating at 70 miles an hour
In plastic rocket ships, towing plastic bricks
And you there, strange looking person
How many toes do you have? You’re not one of us
Your skin is funny and your smell’s different
Let me see your papers that say many things
I don’t believe you can grow your beans here
See, my dead trees and stretched metal rings
Say: ‘NO TRESPASSING’
Get out, leave us alone
You’re filling us with lies
Unless you’ve got tits, beers, football, and guns
Money’s for me, and less of you.

Moon at Midnight – Part XXXXXXV (day 2039)

(part XXXXXXIV)

For three days Willow and I sat
Meditating upon life
Watching the great herd of Elk
Graze the valley below
Laughing as we saw Elk calves
Running to suckle their mothers
And other Elk turning away curious calves
Who weren’t their own to feed
We felt their powerful teeth
Ripping out grass
And then chewing with their rolling jaws
Seemingly no other care in the world
We felt their combined
Powerful hooves rattle the earth
As they slowly came and then went
In their great migration North
Now that the winter ice shields
Were rapidly melting in the spring thaw
We felt their consistent calls
For whom did they send
And from where did the return come from
We could only guess the meanings
But warm breaths
Meeting the cold spring air
Continually sent steam spouts
Up from their great masses
We could smell them
The very essence that they were
In wild and natural pungency
That can mean so many things to the alert
And told us the story of their hardships
They had faced the previous winter
We saw their curiosity
With everything that they passed
Wondering if it was food
Or if it was predator
And if it was at all safe to be here
When they wandered close enough to us
The closest to us would jump back and be alerted
And the others beside it
Would also jump
And scuttle back towards the bulk of the herd
Many would get so close
That we could hear their powerful nostrils
Testing the air for security.

After the third day
We decided that we would take one home with us
So I sent an arrow through the heart
Of a male, ensuring the mother would be able to provide
For the calf until it was able to be on its own
As I dressed the Elk
Willow sent thanks to the Elk gods
For their offering
By evening we had made it out of the valley
And were set up camp by a small stream
Where we washed ourselves
And watched the stars.

part XXXXXXVI

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.

photograph courtesy of model / Lisa // photography / Jen Hill
photograph courtesy of model / Lisa // photography / Jen Hill

Morning Smells (day 1543)

Your morning smells make me aware
I’ve become a sitting star
Awaiting on a little white spell
To wake me of my mist.
So long as I can keep a smile
That tames my licking tongue,
I will, at once, begin my day
Indulging in my desires.

Wind (day 1479)

I was a ghost in a strong, strong wind
Or so I had thought before life did begin.

Let me see through your hardened skin
A beggar forgets there’s lots to win.

I’m tired now, up against this wind
Blow me over, I’ll get back up again.

Float your heart upon a breeze
I cannot smell, I cannot squeeze.

Alight! Heart be nimble, dance within!
For you will feel again, I am the wind.

Wind by Ned Tobin

Girls Dig Them (day 956)

I wear my vintage sweaters everywhere
They make me feel hip
Like Patti Smith mixed with Albert Collins
Kind of cool to the bone cat

It’s convenient because when it’s cold
I’ve got protection
Layered into vintage wools
And historic oranges

I used to care more about the holes
But now they’re marked with untold stories
Some days, if I’m feeling adventurous
I’ll make stories to fill them up

But mostly I just like the smell
Curling around me and calling me theirs
And the girls dig them
Especially when it’s cold out