My eyes roll sideways
Like the criss-crossing trademarks
Scraping the residual, back and forth
Back and forth, while I,
Lounging through my toxic caffeine
Rattling at 128 beats per minute
One houndred and seven miles per hour
Kiss the seawall goodbye
And plow my way forth
Into the great North
Author: ned
On My Way Back (day 960)
I was waiting there, by Heavens Door
Knowing who I was waiting for
But not knowing where to wait
Casually making small talk
With a sleep deprived hobo
Who wondered about text books
And grown up newscasters.
I asked him the directions,
To which he told me about lingerie.
I wondered if he saw the glint in my eyes
From magical memories he had conjured
Deep within my minds eye.
He tried to sell me his pre-blossomed plants
I told him I’d get him on my way back
Fading (day 959)
Lines worn into my curled hands
Write stories about these barren lands
Cris-crossing my page
With dried, sweet smelling sage
Listening to fading sounds of the band
Coffee Mugs and an Umbrella (day 958)
We smiled and held hands
Walking through the rain
With a dollar store umbrella
Bending backwards at the knees
But that’s ok
Because we’ve got our Vancouver
Take away coffee mugs
Gripping tightly to the warm feeling
That’s slowly enveloping
This Saturday morning
Satisfaction
Foreign Washroom (day 957)
Silently awaiting noises
To hear if my noises
Are also heard noises
Girls Dig Them (day 956)
I wear my vintage sweaters everywhere
They make me feel hip
Like Patti Smith mixed with Albert Collins
Kind of cool to the bone cat
It’s convenient because when it’s cold
I’ve got protection
Layered into vintage wools
And historic oranges
I used to care more about the holes
But now they’re marked with untold stories
Some days, if I’m feeling adventurous
I’ll make stories to fill them up
But mostly I just like the smell
Curling around me and calling me theirs
And the girls dig them
Especially when it’s cold out
Tibetan Orbs (day 955)
While straddling my time between Christ the sugar bowl and Don, the rather small teapot
I kissed the roasting bacon nuzzling up against my clothes, a warm glove
“Ouch” said the lonely spot of a remnant hot plate as I smooth talked her into a gentle coo
From here, I could almost hear the other patrons, busily slurping their medium roast over
Minding the color swirls developing in their half and half and brew mix; mind the honey, sugar
I twisted wildly to see a maiden, one of fairer skin and lovelier smile than this twirling vinyl chair I’d been making eyes at
I couldn’t quite understand her stuffed down puff jacket obstructing her twisted cursive
As she coiled and rounded the blue ball point pen about the pages of her soft red scribbler
But my eyes were taken by her small Tibetan orbs delicately dangling from her lobes
I wondered how far she had come today, and if it meant to her as much as it meant to me
That she was also sitting by her lonesome, like I was, at a buck fifty diner, romancing wildly with Christ the sugar bowl and Don, the rather small teapot
Mingling (day 954)
Mingling
Sorting letters
Amongst old stampage
Whispering quietly
At fond memories
And re-reading
My mystery
My Brow, Your Brow (day 953)
How do you commit to someone
To accept one entirely?
For it isn’t just a walk about
Strolling arm in arm…
Nor is it even a moment laughing
To which the poke’s about.
When I sleep, I do not know
What the murmuring’s about.
And walking gaily, all alone
I shouldn’t dare to stop.
Nor when I sleep in my lone bed
Best guess I’m zig-zag hogging
Is it just when my brow’s a furrowed
That I must dig down deep…
Or when I’m afar, a lonesome distance
Away from my fair damosel?
For strong I am, a soldier here
A valiant man of fortune
And when I catch a glimpse of that
Which doesn’t mesh with thyself,
Is it my duty to embrace distaste?
Or fare me well, when I am proud
To turn my head and trod
Into horizon, into the end, farewell! Be off! Be gone!
No. It isn’t that.
This is not the way.
This is not my heart’s desire.
For my own brow,
And your worn brow,
Are forever joined to cherish.
So I do now know what comes of me,
What begs me to be done.
It’s simply a hand of mine, outstretched and outlaid
Accepting another’s sun, vast, wild, and aglow
In peace, enjoyment.. conquest ho!
We run together, apart.
Free to be a memory,
Or a child in incubation.
Free to hide, and free to glow,
And free to bring the world to me.
Free to hold and free to love,
And free to be with me!
Stepping (day 952)
Every day that I see
Wandering away
Light stepping dreams
Through high grass
Shaded from
Strong shining sun
I lament
I long for more days
Where I, close to my
High stepping dreams
Flutter my eyes
Recollecting
For this is not a dream
A premonition
Thickly clouded
Encephalon
This is a walk
Through Autumn meadows
