You clawed my earth with your sharpened talons,
Piercing skin and lapping this dripping blood.
I wasn’t a victim, no, I was the victor!
Not a gram spoiling as bones were licked like molasses;
Surviving and thriving. Delving.
Gripping tight, and expecting evermore.
Tag: spoil
Delirium (day 1067)
I do not know where the rose petals fell;
Floating from my conscience as I lost sight of all.
Leaving an impression, like tail winds trickling
Into the evanescence of my breath.
But you who art sight! What cometh of thy history,
Lost into thy pool of still waters shaking.
I fell one warm, kind day – a moon’s length away,
Into the feelings of a warm blooded kiss.
My littered floorboards of mother natures spoil
Tickled my memory while I shook out my whiskers.
I laid there and laughed for the whiskey surged my sour,
And love settled down beside me, for I was delirious.
Pages (day 820)
All my lies are filled with unskilled talent
Washing out the good pages
Diluting the mixture until I begin to believe them
I should be sentenced to death
For the nonsense I pretend
If it weren’t for the gamblers
For the fortunate good-will
I’d find myself lollygagging lost
In the lies I weave around my butterfly
Dancing in my pretty shoes
And printing more pages to spoil
Fall (day 812)
I lost that feeling deep within the cavernous region of my lonely heart
When the holy sun set upon the western banks of euphoria
My fingers crawled with memories over burning sand shifting away time
Like Mother Nature’s wiles as summer turns to fall
Leaves challenging gravity to a duo, a fate well known to man
Fruits come to spoil and nights come to close amongst sober flight
Silently and diligently animals march their way with instincts
Into warmer climes and distant hills, far off ponds of migration
Flocks and herds and pods and groups and hibernation
With the great cycle of life: life and death and birth and age
And here I sit: legs crossed with my third eye alert
Searching amongst the birch trees and clovers for only that which comes
Without forced determination, without abrupt distraction
As the harvest moon breaches the young evenings virginity
And the lone coyote sings a song of love into the cool night air
Hardy MacPhalentire (day 697)
It’s every day
Same thing same thing
I grunt
I rummage
I snort
And spoil
I poke my nose
Into others business
I kick around
In the cold cold mud
I grunt
I rummage
I snort
And spoil
Hardy can be purchased here.