Three (day 1816)

Human is at last on my mind
Nine fifteen nine fifty three
Easy my modal
On stride in a day’s lemonade

If it goes to three
Then land on my hill
Let ours be and then be
Motion set inside of me

Advantage atmosphere
Advantage tip of my tongue
Burning without gasoline
Summer night is my number three

Three by Ned Tobin

One Night (day 1612)

I spent the night camping
In my darkest of corners.
I spent two hours searching
Inside the womb of my unspent.
I spent one hour withered in darkness.
I spent four hours unable to move,
and one hour mashed
Between a forever truth
And two silver dollars
Who told me I should know how.
I spent one hour hand writing a letter
To a foreign friend I’ve never met.
And I spent three hours digging
Into this wisdom I’ve always known.

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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.

Practicing Wizardry (day 1569)

Wizards are taking turns cracking whips at higher shelves,
A lost umbrella serves as a dusty stepping stone.

When did he ever know his heartache?
A landslide, at the base looking up standing tall.

Can the old boys help anybody now,
Since there’s a guardian knocking all them down?

There’s a wild side whenever anybody’s holding on,
Take a look now, tomorrow’s rhythm of any song.

Inner ambition’s little sister came to say hi amongst terrible rubble.
She cried big elephant tears until socks upon giants grew ears.

Dusty sorts, way up there, but important bits reside beyond the whip,
Enough so, that a lazy angel has taken it to be her resting place.

Leather bound and locked without a lock.
Page four houndred and seventy three.

The Number Three (day 634)

Imagine the shallows of tepid water
Wading through with no regard
And tiny snowblowers buzzing in the background
Reminding you of childhood horrors
In the year of the Rat
With Chinese food at the local diner
Chopsticks and good year fortunes
Like hockey cards and good luck pitchers
Walking two by three down sloppy roads
Three crammed in the back of an ol’ pickup truck
The bumpy way from ice cream to the lookout
With sand banks and long lobs
Exploding in magical madness
Imagine all the broken bike tires
Lost pucks and dead tennis balls
Bounced bald flat basketballs
And the advent of the GameBoy
All within view of this
Tepid water swaying about your
Soaking feet wading through
Mysteries of histories