Most Likely Chance (day 1922)

Who’s got that hat on the floor?
Someone’s burning at the other end
Smoke trails and it’s begun
For the last of the cobblestones have shattered
Into night’s mystery, coo-coo, coo-coo.

Though one long sidewalk dance
Let it be called a clean romance
Cigarette’s burning down some more
Her eyes still singing forever in implore.

Judged like the colour of pure milk
A canvas rolled into the corners ilk
While every patron danced around the room,
Spilled wine and tossed off shoes
And pearls upon every hearted romance,
As art, given at most likely chance.

Saving Grace (day 1441)

Movement arts can break my heart
Shifting me forever more,
Until sun comes to warm my fun
With a source of everlasting.
But even then, in spite my reign,
I spit out glowing embers
That shatter reason and
Break peaceful truths,
Leaving the middle road
A piece of saving grace
I dare not tread to lightly.

Don’t Have to Get Elsewhere (day 1024)

My baby’s the kind of sex
I don’t have to get elsewhere
To her I run and I hide
Inside every desire to me

My baby’s the art of performance
She’s a changing rhythm, time
And I’m right in it
Leading the orchestration

My baby’s the whispering winds
Coming to me at all angles
In the evening hours she whispers
In the daylight hours she screams

Sad Letters at Long Lasts Door (day 1023)

Did my letters long convince your soul
That all was lost amongst our hearts?
Pleasure drained upon the floor
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

Balance shifted which throws me off.
What once was art is burning hearts
To leave me scarred, aghast; true horror.
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

Like laughter in wicked eyes of crows,
It shelters me not, my sorrow cloak.
And fill my heart with dust and sand
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

To wake again my soul at long last,
To deliver my forgiveness upon deaths door.
You were never mine, but I cared evermore.
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

Istanbul - 23082012 (6 of 135)

Dead Leaves (day 847)

Strolls through the park now are filled with dead leaves

Dead leaves float down from shifting canopies
Deciduous trees slowly sway with mother earths soothing motion

Dead leaves blanket soiled paths laid through summer
A softening, deadening all sounds of scraping dirt
But shuffling along as I push forward

Dead leaves dance with discarded cones
Tossed away in haste during a squirrels preparation

Dead leaves share with me a full spectrum of browns
Reds, oranges, greens, purples, blacks
As they run the test of time separated from their lifeline

Dead leaves tell of turning seasons
Lazy summer indulging into autumns necessary storage
And clear nights turning into frosts morning

Dead leaves share with me the art of romance
Harmony in age
Holding hands with Mother Nature
As she guides the procession forward

leaves on the path