I hung onto raindrops
That caressed a blurry,
Single paned window
Sitting empty in a dusty house,
Too tall for company.
I flicked white paint
Peeling along the border,
Imagining my memory
Washed away by a doorbell
That signalled good news.
Of course, a dream
Only dreams,
For never has a swan been seen
Basking among scarred lands:
Desolate trees with
Children’s toys scattered,
Left behind in a moments rush
Towards a meaning to all this silence.
Tag: white
Afternoon Buzz (day 1594)
I hear the sounds of last night’s rain
Dripping off the guitar man upstairs
Like he’s drinking an unmarked bottle of wine
With candles stuffed inside
Green colored empties everywhere.
His pancake heart is shifting
As his torn-bottom baggy jeans scuff
His unease like a broken pencil
And no sharpener.
But two fifteen will buy a slow drip
In a soft-white ceramic self-logo
– Without refill – from a beanie-topped
Organic cycler that always smiles
And talks in soft tones to her cute co-worker
Humoring her choice in music.
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.
Drift (day 1494)
A funny situation has left me struggling,
Self medicated anxiety turning yellow, brown and white.
Upside down and round and round,
There’s nothing left here now.
It used to be a lasting impression
Behind safety walls and rusty cars;
Tall grass means it’s summer.
I am a drifter,
Drifting whisper,
Into my drift I sweat.
Air Mail (day 1463)
Red, white, and blue
To: From
Stamp
Swanky Hotel (day 1391)
White sheets
Mohagany detail
Beige stripes
Whispers (day 1364)
I painted my whispers
Onto blank Christmas cards
Forlorn from the warm sun
Greening all the grass.
They spoke of a light whiteness
Amidst winter’s darkness
And disappeared into the fire.
Peace (day 1186)
Peace is an infinite space,
A note left ringing
That fades into white
But lingers and returns
When all the stars
Have smiled a few times.
Americana Red, White and Blue (day 1166)
Star fucked the highway,
Americana is my name;
Revolution is a pocket
Carries forever remains.
You with your big chalk talk
Playing taxi in cris-crossed musings
Like an off duty ticket master;
An expired joke
With an obscene ending
That dates your sense of amusement
To about nineteen fifty but-fuck no-where.
And this skull tattoo’d late night stalker
Has a skid mark diagonal to your
Latest amusement,
Which lights up the night life
Red, white and blue.
My Illument Back (day 1158)
Should you have rolled me into that pixie white gown?
I laughed with the mariners first touch of ground.
Fire is a gentle nature and this is my bed,
Candles sing songs lingering on into eve.
You are the nature and I am the dreamer,
I am the weaver and you are my story.
My delicate folding showed my illument back,
Stark in this darkness which I escaped into dreams.
Your seaman’s hoarseness upon my plumped, splayed curls,
Changing hands with a thousand dusting fairies.
You are the nature and I am the dreamer,
I am the weaver and you are my story.
And this morning dew and fog brings adieu,
Seaman cold thunderstorm, restless I blow the wind.
Boots go away knocking: your only whispers I can hear.
Untying knots and a lover’s foreign spices.