Mail (day 1815)

A callused hand is my tomorrow;
You’re never far behind.
Leave alone the matted mess
That flirts with every question
For in the envelope of time
Was never sort of guessing, no,
All that was ever called
To surface of the law
Was packaged neatly, sorted, drawn,
And placed into a manilla – shut
Stamped with half ones love

Mail by Ned Tobin

Sweet Nothings (day 1746)

I can’t take,
No. More.
I don’t want to take
Bitter trivialities
Into Madness
Cloaking an angelic voice
Like fog that rolls
About my brain
Before I’ve uncovered
Melancholy feelings
Resting just below
Its surface,
Reeling in abysmal horror
As toxins begin
To take to my veins
And surround my insight
With sweet nothings.

Wide Eyed Tourist (day 591)

Memories crash through on waves hitting the shallow waters of coral reefs
Punishing the peaceful fish that make their way onward in search of food
Sun breaks into the galleries, reflecting wildly off these creatures close to the surface
Where the smiles and new haircuts wash away all that matters

Didn’t we love those diamonds we saw as we searched along the street
Where elephants roamed and wild doctors muttered to themselves
I’ve sat here before, a bottle in hand and the warm night’s breeze
Feeding my cool demeanor as I soothed the furrowed brow on a pretty girls face

We lost our way swimming in those warm shallow waters
Escaping away from the feeding sharks that lurk around the edges
Without a whimper, without the simplest of warning signs we all hope for to see
The waves came tumbling down filling the snorkel full and drowning the wide eyed tourist