Cracks (day 893)

There I was with a paddle in my hand
In the middle of the city
Lookin’ for my river
Heat radiating off the dusty path
Cracks running East to West
And a nickle and dime store
Spinning hot air around
Dropping beads of sweat off exposed refreshments

Ghosts were speaking to me
Sitting there on the boardwalk
On old wooden stools
Grass tooth-pics jutting out
From unshaven scruff filled chins
The lot of them
And me with my paddle

I just stared at them
Ignoring the patient sun
Grumbling away as if mid-day hadn’t already come
I couldn’t tell
Dazed as I was
Had it already come?
I checked my six shooter
And slowly turned North
Towards the fresh BBQ smell
And the slow sweeper
Minding the cracks in the boardwalk
Lookin’ for my river

Strolling (day 886)

Day dream with me,
A stroll if you will,
Through weeping willows
Flirting the edges of a pond.
Home to Canadian geese
With park benches
Scattered about
In an loosely knit pattern;
Two left, four right.
And old lamp posts –
Think nineteen fifty New York
Al Capone and the Rat Pack,
Steeze so steep
It takes a cane to walk back up –
Strolling.
The only way to hold this dream
Is to head along,
Around and around
Strolling through the gay couples
Hand in hand in thought and plans,
Midday sun with passive flies,
Squirrels about gathering nuts
While little bits of escaping grass
Grow up between the cracks,
Making the scene one of delight
One of softness
Fit for a stroll

Passing By (day 880)

Perhaps I shouldn’t have heard it
Ears pierced forever more
That lay me down
To press me round
Into oblivion

But who was I to say it nay
To say it wasn’t right
For passing by
As I was high
Hardly did I note

Say it is true that now I sit
Wondering what then went on
It wasn’t mine
To kill the time
Gone my piercing truth

Cursing Vicariously (day 850)

Unspent truths cursing vicariously
Through unconditioned thought experiments
Spent in upward, vigorous motions
Passing through injected morphisms
Like seasonal growth in natures garden

Acting on un-mended realisms
Lost on battle grounds, littered and forgotten
Aside furious warhorses
Foaming with fever generously applied by spurs
Acting on behalf of triumph

Mounted on the back of the Phoenixes wings
Rebirth, regrowth, replenishing vigor
Re-soiling the fields Kings died upon
With fresh blood, fresh sacrifice
Fresh King Nothings dancing with death

Recoiling in a moments thought
Flickering through a pale moonlit window
A firmer grasp, a clutching expression
A last gasp from the old warhorse put to rest
Reaching the heavens upon slaughters deathbed

Nude Study

Emotional Eyes (day 846)

Shifting deep within
Subtle contradiction between then and now
Tugging at my sleeve
Asking to align settings

Fresh; fancy free
Walks beside me, whispering in my ear
Nuzzling my lobes like a lost lover
Encouraging my engagement, my desires

On a whole other level
Desire meets dreaming
Mystery walks on into horizons
Free of all maps forced to lines

Divinity lowers its lotus petal
A launching pad towards the source
Talking with emotional eyes
Love filled with pure energy

Collar (day 844)

Loosening my collar as I walk up to the spotlight
Hushed vibrations filter through my being
I take a slow breath and look around at expecting faces
Their nervous teeth chattering back at me
Catching my gaze one by one like capital letters
Each their own little religious Icon in my speechless air
Hanging as if suspended in Grandma’s hallway

Forgiveness setting me free while I exhale my contempt
That piece of me that eats away at my conscience
Making me the miscarriage, the flaw

Do you know where I came from today?

I shiver at the thought that even just one of you
Had watched me as I sat shaking in the back corner
Down in dusty nether regions of Carrall and Hastings
My glance glittering like mother’s shiny silverware
My coffee sitting idle: half full – I’m an optimist
Huddled over pages of pages I’ve worked hard at keeping un-wrinkled
Unsuccessfully
Glancing over words that mean little to me now
Figuring every vowel is missing diaeresis
And scribbling on napkins to avoid appearing unorganized
As I spill out my verbatim…

Loosening my collar

Unbuttoning my top button and juggling the microphone
Sinking into a low growl that catches their attention
Chocolatey smooth I say, a lover’s dream
A paradise of low frequencies that shift tailbones
Reckoning based on incalculable numbers

Train station brown brick and mortar stares back at me
From behind the crucifixions waiting nervously
For a brief moment dust settles
Literally, the sun-lit dust beams get lost
In a sea of hovering beer mugs and uneven chairs

Don’t worry. Don’t get nervous sitting there
Reading between the lines and expecting fears
This isn’t a bad ending to a dull day
This is just a well mannered man dressed to satisfy
Piqued desires of the elegant class one starched collar at a time
Unfolded liner notes with immaculate white spaces
This is a jaunt down Water Street with a Hastings attitude
This is a spitting collar loosened