Morning God (day 1076)

When I awake in my mother’s freezing basement,
I don’t jump awake like a bloody early morning quack.
I wish to the good god that swept me to sleep
That she’d count all my stars one more time
And whisper sweet nothings into the back of my mind.
To be honest, the sweet nothings are always floating there.
They never leave and rightly so;
Space head filled with clouds.
No, the sweet nothings are what keep me stifled
And snuggled and re-counting my re-counting
Until the moment I absolutely must arise.
You know, that moment that passed a few re-counts ago.
Eyes closed.

Flip (day 942)

…and these beautiful tenses that flip then and now,
That close over my eyes and filter my dreams
Into little open-lid unmarked boxes
Arranged like a Braque exploration in cubism

These tenses float through thought, itching these dark corners
And flickering little sparks about.
Sensorial-wisps tingle my toes
And I close my fists a little tighter around patched memories

For brief moments then
As I stand alert, awake, and open
A vortex envelopes myself until that split second
Where I no longer have choice but instinct

…and I flip out, eyes fluttering
Glowing like a radiant being whose reached ecstasy
Who has just downloaded boundless formations
With Nag Champa floating and settling around

Cold Death (day 459)

The day I awake
Doors wide open
I am clean today
Unwritten lies

Singer of sadness
Cries out the poems
Widow of worry
Cries out the tears

Blue moons are calling
Setting deep within
Old ambitious man
Left to be cold

The ground is hard now
Under these feet
Sadly they swagger
In death unknown