Sweet Nothings (day 1746)

I can’t take,
No. More.
I don’t want to take
Bitter trivialities
Into Madness
Cloaking an angelic voice
Like fog that rolls
About my brain
Before I’ve uncovered
Melancholy feelings
Resting just below
Its surface,
Reeling in abysmal horror
As toxins begin
To take to my veins
And surround my insight
With sweet nothings.

Trembling Fog (day 1281)

There was a fog,
An “I can barely open my eyes
And the cool glasses aren’t just for show”
Kind of fog.
It started circling round my brain
Then slowly moved south towards
Innermost feelings and dire consequences
Like some kind of fire truck
Of intentions, aware and sober
And fighting the repercussions
Of a long lonely night spent hanging on
To old blues songs from the heart.
This fog did not reside in an empty bottle,
This was the sober realization of
Thirty something with a cross eyed and
Hair brained idea,
Shifting from left to right,
Idling on those soft hands full
Of dermatologically recommended’s best.
And that was the fog so thick
Sunglasses were required.

Guanlön Road (day 943)

The worst is it’s only a settling
A magical mist of wonders and witches
Crawls and creeps and slithers in madness
Oh! look out, down Guanlön Road

Pickles and plasters with deceitful tonics
Rattling around in the pitch of black
Left and right swaying the tosspot
Flickering light, down Guanlön Road

And if I should madness that sits upon shame
Follow me tither with unbounded touch
Twixt my fellows, twixt my brain
Rums and the wrackles, down Guanlön Road

Wash Away Stains (day 648)

Fucking bloated imperfections
Passing tulips and roses out to guests
Inviting homeless inside
For a warm nights sleep and
Steam to wash away stains

Push on me; your aspirations
Dance with this wallflower
This undernourished lover
Through the night and
Along sleeping streets
Blunt under our breath that
Pissed away the night

Live away sadness in
Drugs that float lightly
Betwixt passages of your brain
Lovers mingling in ecstasy
While bloating subsides

Paper Bag Blues (day 625)

The dark pitter-patter watering the ground
Next to the paper bag I sit on
Gives me that Hank III slow train blues
Rhythmically eating away conscious lobes of my brain
Reminding me how often I’ve felt this way before
Stuffed down a hole by my own negligence
Lacking attention to details
Uncommitted hippy attitude to all things present

I’ve put myself here
Wet paper bag singing it’s soul to my lonely hooker’s mind
Sometimes we all get an urge to howl at the moon

Loud and Free (day 557)

Uncommon destruction
That brutalizes my soul
Cool liquid drops of sex
Pour through my brain
Featuring madness

Cannibalistic
Lavishly endearing
Blatant and
Devilishly sinful

And I bow
I bow to the lover that stays awake all night
And the devious young man behind closed doors
Sipping down 25 year old stock

I grow from deep within
Boisterously gathering a new level
Stirring up the saints in the courtyard
Slipping into a deceitful dance
Mesmerizing the nymphs

And I dance of faith
Counting on the anger to shout out my soul
Waking up the ghosts in the courtyard
Slowly. With a devilish grin
Anticipation crawls up the back of my neck

Eruption lets the gods know
Loud and free, they hear this call
They hear me curse at the moon
With the cackling birds of pray
That lay with me in lust

Skin So Bare (day 284)

Dueling pianos penetrate my skin
Forthcoming evening seeps within
Dangerous thoughts roam through my brain
And the night begins thus

Train rolls rapidly on
Jigging my jaw to an unwritten song
I have no fear, says I
I have no pain today

And the lonesome whistle blows off in the distance
I, left standing there in the cold
Watch as my breath floats around the glowing light
In utter silence, miles from anyone or anything

Flash back to a grand romance
Black lace and skin so bare
Knee bones and muted breath
Swayed by the motion of the long locks of hair

I remember now
I remember the long nights I’d speak out
Wondering what lessons I’ve learned
Never understanding the answers I’ve made possible

I’ve never been able to understand
Why searching and searching holds my name
Why memories will always remain
Until the last pair of leggings are just remains