Lonely moon and my heart. Do you ever wonder where to start? So I dip my toes and fix my tie and pretend that my head’s held high because then there’ll be a judging man waiting for a hand to feed a plan and I’m begging with open arms and eyes a gazing for the sweet blossom of my year.
Tag: begging
Sentence to Thy Name (day 1229)
Allowing punishment to crush ritual
Berating better senses of civility
Harshly, against cold stone under foot
Upon a wet and soggy day of death
Smeared between dark moist earth
And trampled, unkept grassy shag
This is not the end of an era
Nor end to a life spent well
It is the beginning of torture
Souls repentance; realization
Destruction on the darkest day of life
Standing, dripping, begging at the gates
Hallowed be thy name as birthright
Non-linear thus be thy path towards thee gallows
Distrust be cruelly written across thy brow
Hastily, uneven, unsymmetric, unceremoniously
Where shaggy be thy mane
Dies the sentence to thy name
Don’t Walk: Run (day 875)
Deceive me without eyes beyond clicks of ancient truths that flow like feathers around the citadel, dancing nimbly about while systems shriek in glory-warrior-cries echoing through the midnight sky.
I will not be plundered, wallowed into sober thoughts while brightly colored patrons and ladies of shallow rooms get lost in their own smirking madness that filters ancient wisdom, solid grains of smoke filtering down silk sheets mesmerizing wild charletons with holy charms and glittered dancing.
Trees that flower madness can only hold back repeating chants that break shrouding silence echoing through walls plied thick with rice paper. Concubines shuttling in asynchronous chaos holding lanterns and ringlets and long slender blades through their hair pretending each step means a little more than the last.
How could I stop when I, half naked in the moonlight grasping at smouldering clouds passing through open spaces in the starlit sky. I curled up my toes and dipped my hips while pushing against the tops of my mouth. I’ll elope with whoever I please if it’s all the rage in Little Japan Town. Circling around the erect landscape staring back at me like some Hamilton at the top of the mountain.
Get back to business before light comes up over the left side of the highway. I’m on my way out and this ain’t lookin too happy with all my flowers wilting in darkness’ hour. Cry, with unbounded jubilee, cry those beautiful eyes till their bottom-of-the-shoe-black. Cry until neighbourhood dogs bark along to sorrow and malaise because they bloody well can, they can rip their lungs out and feed them down their throats while licking their lips and begging for more.
Don’t walk: run. Run until running speeds up to faster running and sprinting begins to bleed and basterds start to bleed and whispers start to bleed and candles begin to bleed and pencils begin to bleed and bleeding begins to bleed and all the screaming children yell at the top of their lungs and sit there and wallow in sorry they haven’t even begun to understand because THEY JUST AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH.
I’m just not happy enough.
No Ladder (day 837)
I stopped at my cliff to eye the fields
A walkers breath was all I could feel
Sent out along with my great view
Sitting alone in torment upon this hill
Not ready to head down to say I’m sorry
Misunderstanding every call shouted aloud
Reaching out hands to soften my fall
And for this I’m sorry, my stars of night’s sky
I miss you more stepping further, higher
A steady breath to hold your thought
Where I cover you from all this hurt
Oh gentle woman, oh lily of my ruin
Not ready to head down to say I’m sorry
Presence needs no ladder to follow me here
Your heart is in me, in every way near
And for this I’m sorry, my stars of night’s sky
I am here now in the height of love
I’m begging my dear for long nights near
Lit up clear with your bright eyes
Your thoughts so soft to my poor heart
I’m on my way to say I’m sorry
It wasn’t long amongst quiet things
To show me how I’ve done you wrong
And for this I’m sorry, my stars of night’s sky
Fever (day 598)
Washing off the whispers that have floated over my body from a lover isn’t as easy as it would seem. The emotions gather around and within and caress my soul until I fall down to my knees begging for forgiveness. I die as the silent wishes wash over my naked body laying in the cold moonlight that howls at my soul. And here, I cannot sleep for all the whispers float over my body. There, and there, there is where I float away from my secrets and fever to a land where no emotions flow.
Dirty I Dry (day 491)
I’ve met you on the streets of Athens
Scribbling notes in you paper bound pad
I’ve photographed you sitting in a doorwell
Along the dark streets of Budapest
I’ve handed you change from my own pocket
Calm as I was, poor as I be
Because I’m a fortunate soul
You, begging with a bowl
Most would call an ornament
From the crumbles of Istanbul
Sitting on the stool sipping your tea
I’ve washed in your bathroom
My dirty hands of pain
As I smoked the hookah bong
Struggling forward in the death of desire
Bucharest pulls from my hands
I’ve slept alone with my fathers ghost
Dying in the ashes of a holocaust
Purified in the frozen ocean
Of the forgotten Baltic lands
Riga took away my pain
One knitted scarf at a time
Until my condom did run dry
My bitch dog fattened on the ham discards
As I strolled choking through the graves of kings
And as I stripped bare
And threw myself about the rocky shores of Stockholm
I learnt that I could still walk
In spite my increasing desire
To elevate my feet, out of the rain
Dry, protected with the wax from a can