There’s Blood Running Down (day 202)

The blood running down
The goosebumps: they fill the only void between space and all time
Lost in the backlash of over indulging
Slept on the wrong side again
Fuck, it’s the same in the end

The blood running down
The last breath holding the starlight deep beneath layers
Forever mourning the weakened desire
Forgotten by the squires
Prophesying all that doesn’t. Really. Matter.

The blood running down
The spreadsheets turning circles on masters and wizards
Poisoning the spells with lurches and makeshift cosmopolitans
Dressed up to please the ever indulging normality
Spiced with dreams of circle jerks

The blood running down
The only occasion left on this moonlit sonata passed these steps long ago
Streaking stains hid by the scared bits of light creeping in closer
But I’ve lost hope of these clever bits
My eyes grow weary, zip goes the bag

And there’s blood running down

Infatuated (day 201)

The eyes of desire
The pursuit of deceit
The longing romance
The hate of an enemy

The benign qi
The solitary zen
The journey begun
The path long run

The light at the end
The goal of the day
The challenge set forth
The inner demand

The kiss on the cheek
The late night ring
The dream all alone
The number in red

The waking hour of thought
The song of the dance
The tune of the heart
The first romance

The price on the tag
The numbers on the flag
The spots on surface
The seamless finish

Badomp Badomp (day 200)

Feel my swagger
Badomp. Badomp
I walk; coy smile
I don’t even need to talk…
I know I own the place
Badomp. Badomp

Stop signs turning green
Ladies; up and down
Gentlemen tipping hats
Badomp. Badomp
I know
Today I own the place

Best seats in the house
Parking stalls for free
Empty spots in busy crowds
And easy drinks
Badomp. Badomp
Badomp. Badomp

I live a life of luxury
Fine cars and champagne
Long panty hoes with fancy garters
Badomp. Badomp
Boys and their hootin’ hollers
Badomp. Badomp

Leaves (day 195)

Lost in an adolescent desire
A makeshift, slightly dull dream
Fitted with romance and pretty culture
Little black, very little black

Sun flares blur my vision
Flowers clutter my hair
And only sweet songs fill
The everlasting notes through the air

It’s summer
I’m here at last
I’m here, writing love notes
To all of the boys

Giggling under covers as I re-read
The wrinkled back pages of my life
Amicably plotting the glorious
Future that has yet to shade

Boney knees and hold this please
Skipping circuits and hearts everywhere
Hearts on jeans, hearts on sweaters
Hearts on hands, hearts on books

Hearts on sleeves
Come close to these
I have yet to learn the power
To my unconscious flirt

Dreaming of the boys
Dreaming of me
Dreaming of the blue oceans
Screaming at me

I know in the future
I’ll remember it all
For all of it I’ve collected
In between these here leaves

Destiny (day 199)

I go through spells of masturbating and drinking tea
Drinking tea and masturbating
It’s like I have an inner desire to be some kind of
Fucking poet, wracking my brain for some utter nonsense
Only to release it with an unconventional treble clef

It’s nonsense, fucking utterly nonsense.

As a young boy I’d sit mesmerized by the flicker of
Angel’s wings floating through the garden on hot summers days
The other fellas would be off playing footy
Me, I’d just enjoy the cool breeze as I lay back
Slow buzz of another little creature coming to pry at my brain

Now, I’m wrecked with heartache that fails to leave me
Little bursts of memories that inflict me with so much agony
I’ve replayed it over and over again, each time with a new smell
But each time it lasts a little bit longer
Maybe one of these times there won’t be an ending to the sad verses

Tomorrow I’ll spit into the middle of the soup
Chanting my spells and adding a drop of blood from a virgin’s finger
I wont wake the dogs for they don’t dance with my words
They act stupid and make believe they don’t see the ghosts that I see
I know better, we all share miseries destiny

Bastard Beatings (day 198)

Rich kid: your heart breaks my jagged brownstone heart
Dangling your flowers above the sewers you squat over
Left aimlessly adrift the swallowing darkness; pity seeks
And I cuddle you with the warmth of a suckling mother
Bastard beatings and sadness ensues

And sadness ensues

And sadness ensues

Rich kid: whistling a tune as you head to destruction
Fancy shoes won’t bob your makeup smudges
You have no blessing I haven’t given, yet
Amongst all your dollar signs and parking tickets
Bastard beatings and sadness fades

Float (day 197)

Float on the brackets and the new vectors
Float on the myriad of reverberations
Tucked neatly inside the folds of your worn, brown jacket

Float with the wings of the countless
Float with the angles of omega
Tucked neatly inside the folds of your worn, brown jacket

Float along the musty banks of hallowed rivers
Float along the degenerating plastic islands
Tucked neatly inside the folds of your worn, brown jacket

Float through the cold towers with screeching edges
Float through the unrequited laughing faces
Fighting to be neatly folded inside your worn, brown jacket

Dipping (day 196)

She flung her long black silk gloves with purpose
Sultry seduction oozed from her pores
Glitter, 10 carat, catching the light
Stabbing her way forth with leg kicks
Spins with meaning, and poise, and grace

And I, the lucky sultan of pride
Roamed these dark corners like a dog on the prowl
Casually oozing my way down to the presence of seduction
“Don’t mind if I do” said the sultan’s eyes
Don’t mind if I do

Be spun, BE SPUN! Take down thee lights high
Faded pictures with memories
Glass jars and unmarked bars
Sipping noodles and dipping spoons
And absinth, delivered in the presence of one

Awake I ride, less intoxicated than tired
More humming than quiet, more left than taken
Sipping casually on the early morning tea
Remembering the accounts closed
And the hands all shaken; more held

The Heavens (day 195)

This journey has been tortured and turned with the omnipresent glare of the eagle
The desires of conquest have been hindered by the scorn of angels
The love has never been spared by cupid, nor by a hungry lover’s eyes
Yet the gears still turn, the ride still rolls

This ascent has been beaten with brutality of breath
Baited with the promise of one pure and descending glance towards the worlds we’ve passed through
A view from the heavens, a wonderfully epic moment of hysteria
As the clouds below part and clarity is felt like the needle sinking in

Mother, won’t you cry with me, die with me
As the young ladies last romance curled its gnarly fingers around the seeping demise
Withered air collapsing into the cruel hands of zero gravity
Mother, won’t you cry with me? Die with me.

Decay (day 194)

Like the soul of the shoe
The voice in the head
The green of the leaf
The love in the night

Decay with the eyes of desire
Decay with the heart of a mother
Decay with the grace of a deity
Decay with the light of a fire

And make
The open sky of love
Fall apart into pieces
Never worn by a stranger
But the brothers of all