Exist Between (day 1861)

Where is this spot that exists between dream and reality
The viscerally imaginative soft stuff
That shakes shaggy ground free of complaints
And sunsets clear morning’s dew
From cobwebs shining as if testing new approaches
To similar corners, similar filters, similar dreams
That sit still and recoil while inhale meets exhale
And spring meets autumn
And one meets two
And a shoe gets worn through by impermanence of space
That’s always been growing up and chopped down
And eaten and fed and counted and weighed
And slotted into a spreadsheet marked with scales
Ranging from zero to ten with a save button
That creates multiple redundancies.
When the only request is for a tiny piece of convenience
For just one moment.
And in a flash,
With feet firmly planted securely on uneven ground
And hands held out in wide Namaskar to this beautiful world
A little droplet of rain shall fall perfectly
Upon a freckled upturned nose holding thoughts
Of a sunny day and all the rays of life shall shine down
In abundant warmth like a ticking clock
Chiming in at every quarter hour.

Exist Between by Ned Tobin

Betwixt Breaths (day 1849)

We are all lonesome lovers
Shivering in and amidst breaths of lovers,
Shaking cobwebs that illuminate
Brief moments of terror and grasping
In a way that never quite becomes us.
Yet laughter sounds cheerful,
Spells swirl betwixt elated breaths
And night dies down
Into faint yellow spotlights
That ominously glow to remind us
It’s not yet morning.

And in a moment he heard her speak
And night did come alive!
All around was sparkling truths
That moaned against the moon,
While pixies danced and ran around
A beaming fire in play,
And there, as it was,
Made just for us to touch,
Warmth of everlast did lay,
Till morning had its way.

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.

Wind (day 1217)

I alter the states of my mind
To allow the gusts of thought pass
As if they had just become mingled
In a thousand cobwebs
That had secrets and truths
And memories long ago
Been buried in my parents back yard
Along side Angus, the family dog,
And Winne, our brown and white guinea pig.
This is where the present comes from,
Shifting from side to side
Hardened pieces of driftwood
And last years decaying perennials.
Wind may bend and curve my states of emotional madness,
My shifting moods and sands and magical feathers
That answer all of my questions,
But time roots all of these gusts
Into solid memories of the old arbutus
Clinging to mind when I close my eyes
And let the wind run through
These states of my mind.