Motion Soundtrack (3088)

Like a joke
I have been replaying a soundtrack
Flickering through my brain,
Like still grass
Clear for me,
Better than most,
But still untrue
Amidst all that blue
Canopy of daylight.
Forgetting these distractions
Made a tear fall
For my ideals
Had become enveloped
And unjustly packed
Just as reverb plays me
Through a symphony
I have recalled my stereo
To monophonic simplicity
And begun to slow
This motion and flow.

Blueberry (day 3055)

Blueberry, my Blueberry,
She blew away today
Hidden in a tumbleweed
She rolled herself away
I looked and saw the dust storm grow
Watched the trees bend halfway down
Even saw the clouds go by
Faster than crows fly.
All I saw was a dust imprint
Where her blue suitcase had been
And my sweet memory
Of my darling, Blueberry.

Ghost Path (day 3011)

I want to believe that I’m the ghost
Walking through the woods;
One small cackle,
A broken branch,
An index of places been before.
I collapse
And am the definition of un-sturdy
For my limbs are limp,
My eyes deep blue pale,
My skin, the colour of
Ten thousand sins
Washed with a rectangular bar of soap,
And hair touching my shoulders
That feels like spider webs
Through a barely audible path.

Highway Signs (day 2960)

It pains me that I cannot unleash my soul
And that it sits here, adoring and alive.
It rocks back and forth with comforting movement
Yet lost.
Purple and blue blinking lights
Reminding me of life late at night
That is more or less lost
On a highway road with dull signs
Still too far away to recognize,
So home is yet to become
The place I’m heading for.

Fever (day 2937)

I work now with a fever;
One single moment with my eyes closed
Produces an entire universe
That flickers before me,
Four seasons ten fold,
And a crystal blue sky
That wakes me with a smile
To tell me that I’m not alone today.
My nimble hands twist,
Grip, Dance,
And tighten around the wet cloth
Attached to my loins
Cooling the pitch
Of which I sing at.

Flora (day 2895)

I finally lost it
Dying embers of a blue hidden sun
Closing in on the gypsy caravan
Callused and tired
Sweat perspiring in long streaks
Nostrils flairing
Slight rustling of nearby poplar trees
And the echo of every footstep
Beating out of tune with thy heartbeat.
One last moment
Erased the pain
No longer present
Between shoulder blades and spine,
A hoot broke the echoing
Going deeper inside my brain
A distant owl
Awake to the day
Unaware the danger
Of finding myself in
So the path led twisting
Towards a deeper understanding
Of fungii and lichen
Flora and the rot of its day
Until the madness set in
Spiraling to tree tops touching open sky
And a little beaver dam turned waterfall
Gurgling goodnight.

A Claim (day 2843)

It was not my claim,
Not could it ever have been
To be lost with controlled madness
On a motorcycle
Going fifty kilometers per hour.
The roads were too dusty,
Too slow,
Too quiet for forgiveness
To be called out
In a manner that did not support
Each dying ember of humanity.
And the glasses were of the new world,
A signal for misunderstanding
– Modern mythological errors
Combed with a brush of the future.
I merely sat there,
I did not dust off the seat
I did not wear deceiving clothes
I did not paint my hair black
Or red or green or blue,
And my wings ever grew
Until I no longer sat alone
Accompanied by history untold
That whispered flickers
Of a language with no words
To my clouded eyes
Laid bare.

Leaving (day 2739)

Have you ever had the chance to leave your mind?
Take a running start and leave it down there
Magic in the heart and two more memories.
Makes me wonder where you’ve been gone so long,
Followin’ a path that weaves and lifts
Hollys and ferns and lichen too;
Rhythm and your blue and jubilant see
Fire in the palm of every river in you.

Happy is a guess I never dreamt for me,
I took another train through desert and stream;
Golden hours awaited at the end of a dream,
Though I never dared come again here.
Lonely is a story best served in the dark
That smells of an old wine and gold bound book,
Flipping to a page that never looked so good.
Words don’t make sense, misunderstood,
And a hollow in the voice that spoke to me.
Gibraltar in every step at the foot of the bed;
Carry it again for the weight in my head
Is following a noise at the tip of my tongue,
Carry me alone, so I’ll suffer there instead.