Today’s coffee reminds me of the day
I ripped a six inch long
one inch deep hole into
the back of my leg.
Thirteen years old,
maybe I was fourteen
at my best friends father’s shop
he worked a lot with cement
and had a big yard
with mounds of gravel
we’d go up and down and around
on our new single track bikes.
It hurt
it hurts
and memories are always there
to bring me away
and back
to where some memories hurt
but ripping the hole
didn’t really hurt
flesh wounds are like that.
Tag: cement
With a Bullet (day 2841)
Watch this driving bullet
Force its way through
Impacted cement walls;
Designed faultline –
Nobody’s in our world
Though we pray they enter in.
Restricted access
Buy more products
Serve our very fear
Irrationally
Never end in sight.
Rationale
Coinciding with political agendas
Rationale
Aligning with domination
Rationale
Marking each bullet
Through our taxed land
Of freedom, of liberty
Of virtues thrown away
Discarded into flowing water
With ballot boxes
Floating away
Submitted.
Knuckle Symbol (day 1836)
Took me on a ride along
To which I was tied tight
Had a symbol on my knuckle
A human rights violation.
As air began to choke,
And smoke thickened over water
And my cement buzzed along
Towards a dotted line.
Memories on the Wall (day 1624)
Smooth charcoal edges coated a tingling memory
That laid beside a warm body glowing.
It took foreign dust on antique chairs
And unraveled a long robe onto a cement floor
With cold toes and blue lips.
And at once, the abrupt end of this ceremony,
Captured by a small jagged and a little dot,
Returned to the inanimate wall
Struggling to stay awake.
Eight Legged Creatures (day 1442)
I cannot shake cobwebs of memories woven
Like the nest of an eight legged creature
Singing along to its tiny violin.
For whether I am last or first becomes
A brown bottle of almost never cared,
Sitting lifelessly on a stained cedar windowsill
Collecting dust and losing its eyes to tears,
Losing its words to years.
Somehow daughters never returned,
Sisters forgot the street number
Even though the sign sat twisted like a unicorn
Whose mane flowed so thickly in powerful gusts of wind
A rooster turned right around watching.
One cobweb strand reminds me of twin fawns
Who would wander by searching for blackberries,
Rich and prime and staining my fingers
Like thick lines trailing after a slug
Crossing a cement pathway.
I’ve grown used to the cobwebs,
Adjusted to being wrapped so delicately
Subtle changes in atmosphere
Cause reverberating sensations to flicker around
Along a one way street on the holy train.
It’s reached a point where I no longer feel
The sweet perspiration of an ice cold Coke bottle;
Instead, the roar of a monotonous dial-tone
Eager to tell me it’s all right,
And I’ve been here before.
Uneven Sleep (day 285)
I had an uneven sleep
Like the homeless on the cement
Dying for the months rent
Listlessly wandering into another step
For what, I fear the answer
I fear the melancholy it invites
I fear the destruction it involves
Without a comfortable cloth to my name
How lame it must seem
To the truly advanced souls of this land
Where once was a stone
Now creeps up some glass
Greenery once ran rampant throughout
But now is delicately placed high above
In secret places only the few birds know about
But then, where have our secrets come from?
Whither have they gone?
Logging (day 91)
Decisive
Witty
We spot the green slopes of grass
Littering the hills
Across the valley
Where no road of cement does roam
Global directives
Seem to explain
The scars we do place on our earth
In time
However
The roots we plant forgive
Prose or Drawing (day 41)
As the clouds roll grayly over the tips of the trees
A flower sprouts out, distorting my gaze
Lime green shoot with delicate leaves off
Yellow petals catching little rays of sunshine
In spite the meandering clouds
And a bird, sweep and sway as it goes
Following a path neither you nor I see
The lazy sound of rolling tires
Pressing heavily along the solid cement
Easily making out the cars that hit that evil pothole
But the cedar hedges all look sharp
Neatly cut last night with a dull pair of snippers
I know because I heard it happen
They cried the whole night too
Now, they look pretty and blue
Upon closer inspection of the ground I lay
A beetle crawls away, weaving a slow path
Destined for a head on collision with
That squirmy ant I see over there
Maybe they’ll become friends with one another
In all the sights I hear on my perch
All the animals I know do roam
I feel of them all luckiest to be
The one with the freedom
The voice to be me