Morning breath of Saturday glory
Blinding in its sight
Focused on a path of tomorrow
For today is inescaped.
And far above on Midnight’s hill
Rode a tall and lanky Knight
Who dreamt of far off Damsels
Who wore bright flowers of ancient pattern.
Down they swooped and lush they bled
For their heart was bound thy sleeve,
And bottled in a pit of agony
Lay the tremors that fought against
Each and every missing link
Of ancient pattern’s bloom.
But there it grew, there it lifted
Above horizon and into morn’,
There the sight of our dear Knight
Rode amidst Valley full.
Tag: bottle
The Road (day 2722)
Road has a way of making
Every moment of home a vision
Past remembrances that took away
What innocence I thought I’d had
My rambling price that I never did pay
With the Devil and his soft business
A saddle and a bottle
That keeps dryin’ me up.
There’s a smell I remember
And keep lookin’ round to see
Since she smiled so nicely at me.
What could be better than trying, anyway?
I never looked the way I remember it did
Though I had many good chance
Don’t ask me when I’ll be back.
Two Bottles of Milk (day 2490)
When I walked out to the old log barn
I heard a friendly call
Two little lambs looking for food
Litte orphaned bottle bumpers
They met me as I swung open the door
And stepped into their excited embrace
Which was full of expectation that
I came with two bottles of milk.
Good Nights (day 2420)
I watch a boy my size who is
Coming through the door.
He’s got himself a bundle of
Leather bound books in hand.
I asked him if he read much Cohen
He said it was a bore.
Just like that, my first impression
Was shot out to the moon,
For how could anybody say
Cohen wasn’t much to implore.
I returned to my conversation
With a brown eyed Lady-more.
She had told me about a tale
Where two men sang folk lore,
Now this was it, this was my style
We were on to so much more.
Then I sank into much ease
As she walked me to the store.
Pack of gum, two candy sticks
And a bottle of sweet ale.
Thus my night was set into
A tale of leather soles
Lighting up the cobblestones
Walking the road hand in hand.
Whiskey Disco (day 2215)
Whiskey disco has me moving again
Two steps backward
We got four steps to go
Deep diving sunshine
Off a dock kept afloat
By two more bottles
That I just can’t let go
So I’m singing loudly
At the Whiskey Disco
With my old friends
Who’ve got to much on me
We live our lives
So that we get overrun
By no other then
The Whiskey Disco
Tightly Packed (day 2146)
I held a spoonful close to my mouth
Sips of whatever I had coming again
Tightly packed for a business trip
In a car with four doors
Fingertips and a medicine bottle
And a spoon held for too long.
Take me down a river road
Cottonwoods and wheeping willows
Blowing in the wind
Long lamented tailwind signaled
Our swift departure – forward
With an essence upon my lips
Holding on to my silver moon.
The Boxer (day 1933)
You were a boxer
Every Thursday night
After Big Jim’s Saloon
Took a bottle and you
Out to a cobblestone night.
A muffled mind with intention,
Fireworks covered in mud,
And a slow slur that wound up
Like Roadrunner
Walking a tightrope,
The top rope
Of a dark, four cornered ring.
You liked the big city
Because your slow down
Never coincided with a dead end.
Your betting days
Flashed jackpot on your bedroom wall:
Red, green, and yellow.
And your highschool sweetheart
Hung alone on peeling paper
That crackled back at you
As you walked naked
From your bedroom
To a comfortable routine
You knew so well.
The Ruin (day 1742)
Empty pill bottles slammed into the rusty cages of my heart
Leading my hopelessness on a two part story,
Part 1: The Ruin
Part 2: The End.
I’m sympathetic to wasps that buzz around my head as I divert my pure thoughts,
Only had I known their tapping of my consciousness could harness heaven,
For I was scrubbing furiously with a wire brush
To scrape every last bit of rust from my hopes.
Faith (day 1668)
My faith lies in unopened bottles of wisdom
Set aside for perfect occasions,
Fermenting away like the apple cider vinegar
That cures every single one of my problems.
I make tinctures and rattle them bottles
Until sediment and health
Expels my deathly energy
That filters down through ice cubes
Rattling away.
Along a Canal (day 1647)
This is my middle finger.
I take the softest wind drift
To an older enemy,
Who sighed inside a bottle
That floated down a river
And sweeped into the delta
Of rice fields and manure.
Care ye’to thee ol’letters?
As I recited memories
On twenty pound letterhead.
Till I turned around forever.