Wild Edges of Death (day 3125)

Let me feel the messy you
The one with old sweatpants
That show wild edges of your soul.

Let me smell the rancid death
Of the achings deep inside,
And the cosmic galaxy that lies
Expelled, each pore of your skin
So deeply sensed within my own
A redness on my mind.

Let me hear the groan
Of your hurt and of your gasp,
For the rose becomes
So delicate in death.

Nigh (day 3108)

Forgive me
If it is not in my name
I cannot blame the moon
Nor can I blame the season
I cannot source my troubles
From elsewhere in the land
For I am me, this being,
Standing and worn
And it is I
Who hath lost all
That receives me
Into my good nature.

Embers of Your Heart (day 3085)

I wanted to climb into the embers of your heart so badly
That I wrote your name in ink ten times
And spoke to the Gods the colour of your eyes.
Your hair bound me in embrace,
And when I took my breath back inside my soul
It was your braided hair with its loose end
That was my direction home.

Each peak of the surrounding alps pinched the crisp air
So vividly, so clearly, that the tingling
Felt within my altitude heart
Brought a reverie so daring and honest
That even the Sun began to expose a pathway
Leading from my very spot to your omnipresent aura
I could feel beside my soul.

Various shades of darkness rode the wave of mystery
Deep within the bowels of a murky and eerie call,
And the source of each ripple floating outward
Seemed to be the very depth of my footsteps forth
Enticed by my soul belief that your chasm,
Your pulsating organ of electric arcs
Was my guiding orb I could see
Even as I swallowed water as breath
And traced the silhouetted branches
That floated above my remaining thoughts.

Mind Rumors (day 3073)

I want to hold you now
– But I am stricken
Though I do not know
Why I must depart and wait.
Thus my breath deflates,
And the ghost asks:
“What blows against your soul?”
But I do not know,
And I do not speak to it
For it spreads rumors
And my heart cannot handle
Any more rumors from my mind.

So Goes and Wind (day 3071)

With my wind I have fallen in
With little tufts of grass
Whom stand so brave and tall
Against the snow, so cold.
I have blown across the whitescape
As light shades of brown
As dirt and ice that rip apart
The crisp memory of sun.
So goes the traces of my finger
Deep within the hallow
Sunken to my melting cheek bone
That grips against the snow.
So goes the sweet angel of my memory
Who has left me like a broken fire
That I have no more kindling for
Though I remember every splinter
That has sunken to my soul.