Sewn With My Name (day 1285)

When you whisper my name a thousand miles away
A little fairy floats from you on to me
With a gift wrapped in satin, sewn with my name.

Moments keep building through conquest and torture,
With every gamble perching icicles upon our brows
That tickle and fancy and etch out our fate.

My deepened breath at the sight of your fairy
Keep me awake, for no thought should go wasted;
No lingering memory or heart pitter-patter missed.

Just like my serpent, I’m alive with no name,
All else flickers and slithers; lost into bane.
‘Goes here with my fairy, a thousand miles away.

Gray and White Breaks (day 1283)

Can you follow me upon a speeding star
Along wild roads where wind’s through our hair?

I’ve never been out past the seasons mild rain
To be seen once again by the woman with no name.

Long walks together carry a rhythmic harmony
That pulls and begs and lifts love, my name.

Like long winded breaks I’ve fallen over you
Where tomorrows forever will champion my heart.

Hurtling and spitting with venemous fury
Gray and white breaks shall be my amorous flurry.

Should ever your fancy be found to be unstrung,
Let my guiding thunder be the reason you run.

And all over islands, heated by warm sun
Shall be our own quarters, to dine in gay coitus.

Not Alone (day 1282)

I am not alone in this.
I am not standing here;
Soft music serenading
My lonely heart.
I am not a typist
Rhythmically dancing to
Magical clicks spelling off
Ransom notes of varying
Degrees of importance.
But my fingernails are delicately pruned,
So wands and spells can expertly roll – Full of life and other such necromances –
Off and away and beyond
These simple imaginations of a man,
Not alone, but lonely.


Trembling Fog (day 1281)

There was a fog,
An “I can barely open my eyes
And the cool glasses aren’t just for show”
Kind of fog.
It started circling round my brain
Then slowly moved south towards
Innermost feelings and dire consequences
Like some kind of fire truck
Of intentions, aware and sober
And fighting the repercussions
Of a long lonely night spent hanging on
To old blues songs from the heart.
This fog did not reside in an empty bottle,
This was the sober realization of
Thirty something with a cross eyed and
Hair brained idea,
Shifting from left to right,
Idling on those soft hands full
Of dermatologically recommended’s best.
And that was the fog so thick
Sunglasses were required.

My Mountain in the Rain (day 1280)

My mountain has been falling down,
Leaving holes the size of crowns.
I look to learn the makers name,
But eyes, unblinking, stare through the rain.

Could this new path design the way,
A thousand years been left unpaved.
I cry with every brick to fall,
Towards my future, the Grand Ball.

In my distance I feel no pain,
I shudder lost on through the rain
Amidst clear guidelines and diplomats;
Hidden secrets swept under mat.

Up and up and up my gaze
Fights through the foggy haze,
For as my mountain falls apart
Answers dart from end to start.

Clearly, says I, to my maker, my God,
What has become, why is there blood?
Why are my knees no longer strong?
What force has left my music gone?

Mind Space (day 1278)

I want to fall into a little break in space
Like angels upon lazy-boys,
Smoking cigarettes with the nuns.
My open mind shifts constantly
Between a bad habit and good morning sun,
Where there’s no better maker,
No fuller shade of gray
To take care; once was into the future.
French rhymes upon my tongue,
Little tea cup stains around my working scribbler,
Two dollars for the road,
And my mind’s not made up yet.


Howl Right Back (day 1277)

If it wasn’t for all the time I spend
Laying in bed wild and free,
I’d have surely lost all my passion
To be here now with you.
For when the moon howls at me
And tells me strongly to:
“Avoid the day, avoid the stone,
Set your spirit free.”
I’m often inclined to howl right back
Singing my favorite song.
But my heart! How it rides!
How it holds my hands and squeezes!
I’m in too far, I’m comfortable,
And my coffee gets delivered to me.

How can I go on wondering,
How does time elude my plan,
Did I walk off with silly games
I’d never make it home to play?

A memory that comes to me
Usually sets me free.
Like Hindenburg, Heidelberg,
Like Huxley, Hoyt, and Hank.
Like one thousand soldiers
Returning home
After two years of endless war.
Like comfort that you give me
As I lay side by side with you,
I reach into my back pocket
And expose my satisfaction,
I’m home.

In a Foreign Land (day 1276)

A large laneway spoiled my walk.
It burst open at the seams with
Garbage and decay
That nearly side swiped me
With unbridled consumption.

The laneway confused me
As I contemplated it a while
From the safe sidewalk on Main Street.
It steamed and gurgled and
A faint smell of piss and regret
Hissed at me with a cold bite in the air.

From here, my memory served me well. It reminded me of cannons
And a bazaar in a foreign land
That was purely barbaric,
Entirely rusty and soiled from
Years of neglected abuse.

In my idle moments I watched
Three souls wander the laneway
With as much passion
As one would expect lost souls
From Christ the Redeemer’s
Empathetic sermon to have.

And I was alone, wondering,
Thinking to myself in the 1-2-1 rhythm
Of my left-right-left leather soles
Clip clopping down the lonely laneway
Into obscurity and steam.