Once again tides have never felt
So distant on my skin,
Vacant yet torrenting;
Clumsy I, within.
I watch the tide lift it’s mighty breath
And heave it all aloud,
So frequent left I to shutter;
My mind, as far away as
Albatross in the wind.
Category: lost
Alone Can Be (day 1934)
How alone can alone be
When tapping at my window comes
A shadow with two fingers saying
Come out with me to sing and play.
Alone these moments of my heart
Listen like an alert lark
Shaken with a little limb
That has one leaf still hanging on.
And ever in my mind, alone,
I find a whisper calmly saying
You’re ok now, you’re home with me,
Alone here as alone can be.
Here To Stay (day 1929)
I want to go off and into something else
I’m not here anymore, left blowing into the wind.
Where does my pain come from every night?
Leave me there, it’s in my soothing song.
It’s not lines I’ve drawn across my head
Nor lines that draw my sheet to bed,
It’s circles running down my cheeks
To smother every heartbeat I don’t want to forget.
I’ve lost the difference in my dreams,
They’ve come into my days with open eyes
Reaching out to what I see;
Reflections shaking out in twilight’s lake.
Harmony will be my memory’s drawing
As I lay my bedding down as straw,
Take my hand with what I’ve yet to say
And brush my dusty shoes so that it’s here I’ll stay.
Tangle Me Whole (day 1927)
Tangle me whole –
Fraying at edges,
Confused and scarred
Sacred and empty.
Faith lasts
Yet water runs dry
And hallowed river banks
Leave tears running
Down my spine
Tangling me whole
Lifting me up and
Scraping my sides
With sandstone and thorns.
Let my ankles
Caress each meadow
And place my soul in the sky.
Fade To Black (day 1923)
I don’t want to make my way in a barren landscape
The thought overwhelms me, loses my hope.
It loosens my grip and forces me
Into an unforgiving reality
That stops at every stop sign,
Red lights my deepest dreams,
And perpetuates my winter footsteps,
Fading to black.
Grime (day 1918)
I’m growing into the grime I knew I was
Swamp land so thick in slime
Dizzy as, I cannot swim
Neither try nor do I float
Down down down I go
To leave all grassy slopes behind
My head is dripping as I cry
Dropping into necromance
I spread across my eyes
What I have come to know as grime.
Silent Lines (day 1916)
I like the silence of closed eyes
In spite roaring flickering lights
And devilish heavy breathing
That’s slowly circling around my ankles
Encrusting scars that stretch towards
Silent darkness I dare not tread on.
No, my silence is juxtaposed with illusions:
Of dancing lovers who call themselves friends,
Of scowling friends who want nothing more
Then to make love all night to my soul.
My silence kisses me softly
When all around roars deafening
In giant gulps of thunder and lightening,
And my eyes they burn with midnight candles
And leave forever lines across my forgotten soul.
Sewers (day 1915)
It is my check into reality moment
My hero’s capacity
My fatale coup with ignorant blinds up,
Two short skips and plastic bags
Street lamps clanging away
To the tune of some bastard child’s nickel
And the corner store is closed now
So cigarettes will have to wait
Until I can find a better reason
To let my keys fall
Into sewers of my memory.
And Tender So (day 1913)
Flourish
And fall like the rest of us;
Autumn my heart can never bear.
And sing it out to me
Steal it from the depths
I’ve covered up and closed.
Be the curling leaf
Upon which my gaze can never leave,
Listen intently
To the voice I never gave
Rumbling rumbling rumbling
Rain that never came
And tender so:
Frosting of my heart.
Down Turned Reverberations (day 1912)
You know, it’s ok.
It doesn’t matter that the sky seems to fall when you stretch your eyes wide at the beginning of a new day. It doesn’t matter that the tangle in your heart matches the tangle of your long, curly, brown hair drooping about your itchy nose as you fling from side to side with a worn out cactus shirt reaching down to the same legs you rest your morning coffee on.
I’ve found a reason that doesn’t rely on these silly momentary things. I’ve found the silk road, pock marked by moths with an unsettling history that left a lot of sad pages in the brown covered diary I’ve never re-read. I’ve begun to maneuver this silk pressing just as I would walking through busy streets or desert, dry mouthed and heart fleeting as beats reverberate off of every single thought.
It’s ok.
It’s a revolution that cannot get taken away, it’s the dull side of a newly sharpened axe. How many rows have you planted to become the star lit sky we all look up to; arms are better for hugging then the cold glass walls modern giants embed their soldiers within.
You’re not the only one with down turned memories of what we could never see, never hear, never even share from the distance we watch each other from – but our morning smells seem to remind us of nothing but the closeness we have; but evening silence is a feeling we so easily forgive.
It’s ok, and I’m never really very far.