Shuffling (day 2318)

I’m not very far
Just a shining star
A beat sent to the night
Half past what was good
Turned into three songs
I’m not shuffling on
Freight train of my night
Slow song keeps following me
Down another lonely street
Not far to get
Thoughts of home
My weary knees,
Shining star and not very far
Sing me songs I wont forget
And carry me another beat
I’m shuffling on.

Stay Here (day 2306)

I’m looking for an excuse to stay here
Left over piano tunes
Strolling the evening away
With leather soles and a warm glass of wine
Taking my time
Down the street of no convenience
Well past midnight
And the weather’s been fine
So I’ll stay out here
Walking this walk
And looking for deals in a dusty window
So I don’t have to stay here anymore.

Not Tomorrow (day 2128)

You had a golden hour approaching
I wrote it down into my never ending
Then I sang a song that held each note too long
And dusted off each missing string.

Well and gone was each memory
Tucked into a case, sent off to sea
So my carved music making machine
Led me down the worst wrong street.

Oh you, you, you dug more sand to cover my toes
Coldness that I couldn’t attribute
Soaking bone my today castle
Over sunsets of towards a never end.

Intention (day 2056)

When did we lose the underground
The deep devils that wrecked things
That spray painted innocence away
And held up dirty slogans
On hand written signs
That didn’t follow general consensus.

I don’t understand you anymore
I hear words that make sense
But it doesn’t help me understand you any more
And like my shoes I found in a department store
That squeak like the others
I’m floating down easy street
With intention on my mind.

Am I this made up?
I’m growing angry at the devil’s draft
The experience I’ve left behind
Dry and balding, a sour glass
Chew me up and spit me out
Slap me with some beaver fat
I’m growing old and losing time
And I’m putting each sequence on a list
To burn up in tomorrow’s fire.

Down Turned Reverberations (day 1912)

You know, it’s ok.

It doesn’t matter that the sky seems to fall when you stretch your eyes wide at the beginning of a new day. It doesn’t matter that the tangle in your heart matches the tangle of your long, curly, brown hair drooping about your itchy nose as you fling from side to side with a worn out cactus shirt reaching down to the same legs you rest your morning coffee on.

I’ve found a reason that doesn’t rely on these silly momentary things. I’ve found the silk road, pock marked by moths with an unsettling history that left a lot of sad pages in the brown covered diary I’ve never re-read. I’ve begun to maneuver this silk pressing just as I would walking through busy streets or desert, dry mouthed and heart fleeting as beats reverberate off of every single thought.

It’s ok.

It’s a revolution that cannot get taken away, it’s the dull side of a newly sharpened axe. How many rows have you planted to become the star lit sky we all look up to; arms are better for hugging then the cold glass walls modern giants embed their soldiers within.

You’re not the only one with down turned memories of what we could never see, never hear, never even share from the distance we watch each other from – but our morning smells seem to remind us of nothing but the closeness we have; but evening silence is a feeling we so easily forgive.

It’s ok, and I’m never really very far.

Dead Ends (day 1874)

I don’t want to remember
Because the stories of my nostalgia
Belong to endings I’ve never lived
And lost songs I’ve left unsung
Ring on in my head.
I don’t want to play those records
Because they’re broken now,
And my heart reaches
Every time the needle skips,
And every time I drive those streets
I’m left shifting gears of a
Past I’ve left dead ended.

News (day 1839)

I asked you in an earnest voice
If the weather had been nice –
A windowless entrance into your mind
A sunset in the sky.
And your sunglasses gave you away
On this sunny side of our street
Where I ventured just one other guess
As to where your lover had been lately.
To which you looked the other way
And left me holding onto your
Glass purse now splayed on the floor.
A prison I could only guess,
As I collected quite the mess
In shadows and eye liner pens.
So I turned back into my coffee
That was more straight then you did seem
To let her cursing steam away
And the news was getting cold.

News by Ned Tobin

Edge (day 1643)

We all shake our gates to the sound of riddled irons
Ricocheting off midnight streets in lonely battle cries.
We dress formal, we provide answers,
We lose sight of retail for a better lease on life.
We do this. We pound our own hammer
With all our might, until fatal the blow
Or sharp the edge.

Edge by Ned Tobin

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.