I faced two paths today.
A corner held me steady.
I crawled into an oversized shoe
And wiggled my way around.
A ship’s horn called out loud.
Sun caressed my left half
As I sat facing West.
Dinner was served upon a plate
I hadn’t eaten from before.
Month: September 2015
Pen Blotches (day 1575)
I cannot grasp what it will mean to send you off again,
What it will mean to let you go;
Finger tips to finger tips and not looking back
And hearing the roar of big jet planes
Overcome my trembling heart
That fleeting moments have left disoriented,
Direction home now jumbled and unrecognizable
Like the clouds you’ll soon be looking down upon.
I cannot find solace in a text to voice ratio,
In a line to line heartbeat filled of stories from afar.
But I will write until my pen blotches all my
Blank pages sad, and leaves my exclamation marks
Simple puddles in a mess.
So come back soon,
Before my heart begins to beat too soft a vibration,
And my pen runs out of black.
In Love (day 1574)
I am hopelessly in love
With words I cannot explain,
With a world so far away
Lost into the abyss of time.
Yet me, in my stubborn nature
Crawl, nay, scramble through rubble
To find exact duplications
That fit my heart just right
And let this feeling linger
Until my eyes close
And heart beats on.
Sweater (day 1573)
Cheap fun
Was on my mind
When I wore
Your sweater
Inside out
Echo (day 1572)
Calling out
I remembered
My echo
Held my hand
Sin (day 1571)
My closest
Memories
Scrape raw
All this skin
Yellow (day 1570)
Shake your hands little man
Rumble rumble rumble.
Shock proof and submerged
I’ve become a yellow alien
Lost in a foreign land.
Shake it in a glass pint of feel good yellow
Until it hurts so hard nutshell
There begins quite a rumble.
Put your guns outside now,
The blood is run down.
Bitter is the agent of change;
A sour heart upon edges of my spine.
My yellow in the midst of your confusion.
An iron, coyly, in a state of disconnect
And my flattening ceases, rumble rumble.
I hope you found the keys –
Open sitting etched wooden door.
Explanations come out
Flight from a thousand monarch butterflies
In a thousand shades of yellow.
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.
Lights In the Park (day 1568)
Where I come from, wounded soldiers are hid behind shadows and only come out at night when small dogs are being walked by wobbling, aging men wearing the same thing they’ve worn for 20 years. The leash, however, fits just as it should. I wonder, rather curiously, what sports or video game they’re missing as they pull the mutt home.
When I sit and stare at the business, it rolls by in a drawl so thick, screaming girls in stretch limos seem normal down city streets where younger hip dudes with Chuck Taylors on discard the evening’s steaming pile of dog shit into an overflowing disposal bin painted green.
Lights on a distant sports building shift through the lower half of the color spectrum, causing the young girls white dog to turn a more rusty yellow. I try not to look at her puppy while she ruffles the poop bag. Young white boys talking in a foreign tongue park their father’s white suburban in a permit required zone and pass their joint around as if it’s their first nudie magazine at summer camp.
I sit silently, sipping on my micky of Sailor Jerry’s and pretend there’s nobody I’m thinking of and somebody to walk home to. I left the light on beside the bed to give off some sort of impression anyways.
Folly (day 1567)
These confessions of a dreamer
Leave me circling previous thoughts
With bold, easily identified colors
To indicate folly, where folly’s due.
It’s senseless to caress with timid eyes,
Without hunger biting down doors
And scratching the back of a ravenous beast.
I awake with my fingers gnarled around
Phallic dreams eloping with dense heat
Coiling into my dangerous heart,
Poised and set to pounce