I Thought You Were Here (day 2816)

I thought you were here,
Then my summer began.
I took you on every trip.
Turned down by the big creek,
Headed on in deep;
Dirt and the sand
And everything ran.

I thought you were here,
Ready to join in.
I cut out a path
To the big ol’ pine,
We hid in the rain
Out of everyone’s pain.

I thought you were here,
Always at my front door.
I heard you come up,
Saw the look in your eyes,
Never thought I’d lose
Deep sand and my blues
Ended with everything for you.

Saints (day 1865)

Call me lonesome blues
Inside a lost and wholesome moon
I’ve made a call
To all my saints
Left traces without an answer.
And if my phone were to ring out
And voices did talk back
Well, who would be a smoking stack
But the heart of my lonesome blues.
So get me upon a saddle, soon,
I’ve become the warrior long,
I’ve had my beans, cleaned in the stream,
And wishing now for soil.

Denim Free (day 1783)

Head pushing backspacer
Forever is a road sign
Empty windows feeding your seed
Fragmented vision – indiscreet

Waxing on the good side
Wondrously bowed a King
Stained white dustbowl
Shady blues bus stop

Cruel is a stop sign
When life’s on the run
Freedom is a hole in
Denim back pockets

Floating Tragedy (day 1146)

My heart floats into a tragedy
Like cats painted on my baby boys nursery wall.

Destined and predetermined
And midnight moon lonely.

Don’t scare me.
Don’t listen to those lonely secrets.

Don’t float the note, sealed in the
Hand-crafted sailing boat down the community stream.

Don’t cry the grass alive
From your lonely tower.

I’m a birthday balloon
From cheap dollar store blues.

My heart floats on into tragedy.
A single bill with no underlining.

I’m a water and chips
At the liquor store diner.

I’m on the lonely side of uncomfortable fabric.
And my heart floats into unrequited tragedy.

And your loose limits
Are crying my name.

Leftover Lovers (day 1110)

She was a woman who cared for her lovers
The same she cared for beggars and friends.
A little lone heart with a name stuffed with blues;
Hobo’s delight in a $10 Marlborough,
And my love never lasted in that smoke-house saloon.
Love in a little back door room.
My dreams and I was heartache by Tuesday.
Though I swam like a digger, I was surfaced and saved
In my own lonesome song.
She was a heart made up of elastics
And my twangy delivery
Was the Wednesday that I’d never start.

So don’t go treating your lovers
Like left over flipping page books.
It’s a forgotten stack, the dusty pile,
And we’re a never ending love song
With toes getting colder.
A common answer to sufferin we kept inflicting,
Two unspoken lovers on two lost Sundays.
Two out of tune guitars
Waiting to behold warmer mornings,
Just waiting on leftover tea.

She made me get up later
So we could talk of traveling gypsies
And listen to leftover records
We’d forgotten to play with brandy.
I collected your answers in tiny glass jars
For your leftover spells.
I wasn’t branded in passion;
Painted on that old saloon wall
With some unspoken love song
And leftover cigarettes sailing the sea
As I woke up to Wednesday
On a Tuesday afternoon.

Left Shoes (day 1091)

She’s backstage
And I’ve been driving,
Reckless I know by name.
Shaking as high school.
And I’m a virgin.
Wet dick and anticipating
Romance full of pretending,
Two eyes on a 4:45 am highway.
Nerves and highway straits.
Tight and
Six low balls
Running circles ’round my
Jitter-bug baloos.
Scutter-bug blues.
Ain’t singing sister shows
Nothing wrong with going solo.
Motown and their twisting tu-tus.
And I’m in a stinky ward,
And the girls round here like digging.
And I got a girl who’s a dig.

Close Wrapped Scarf (day 925)

Side-parts in earthy blues and olive green sweaters
Concealing checkered button-up fireplace specials
Hot chocolate dreams of roasted coffee cups
That sit upon crumbly coasters with one small stirring spoon
Christmas with Louis, his horn bringing in the cold
Like the plethora of close wrapped scarves
And men in skinny jeans
With that familiar smell of roasting
Soaking into my own being
Casually making my two inch wooden table
Lament the Ikea special bendy plastic backs
That just speak of too much trying

Shippin’ Off Blues (day 638)

Blues running through my veins like a thousand year old steam train
Shufflin’ with rhythm unprecedented, unfounded, and glorious
Hustlin’ with mood set out for bad-ass gangsters fixing for the night

I’m gone baby, I’m ready for the big show
I’ve been shining these here two toned, Italian made leathers far too long
I’m shipping off in the next thing that moves
Towards better days with freedom I call home

Fixating on darker things of the night
Little noises
Smoke wafting up fedora covered heads
Huddled around the exclusive club
Ladies with silk dresses courtin’ slips
Not of tongues, but of long slender lines that draw up the side of a beautiful woman’s leg
Moonshine whiskey in small parlour glasses that clink with each sip from thawing rocks

Baby, I’ve got the blues tonight
Steady glow from jukebox blues
Ol’ wooden chairs that drag on hardwood floors
Pompadours for men with long chains scraping round the ground
Bouffants on pretty ladies with elbow length satin gloves
Sittin’ ‘mongst the men, leanin’ on tables and chairs
And Lady Theodore, the spectacle of my amazement
The light of the establishment
Glory and style and beauty encapsulated

I’m hustlin’ tonight baby
I’m ready for the big show
I’m shippin’ off ‘n the next thing that moves