Lout (day 1139)

Don’t panic
We’ve got the hizy-hizzy heazy
Flushing down these knees
Lay it low
Like a mother-fucking flow
And come
With me
A while

Now the story here
Is about a lout
A grease so green
A log so dense
A steam to cream
The dogs always howl
The moon always cries
The birds and the bees
Are all lost in the trees

You see, the grease is a man
That scares all the dimes
A long overdue
21 gun salute
An ulcer in my throat
A never ending torrent
Dead grass wilting my boat

But I’m an undercover agent
A toonie-two balcony
Who takes the first initiative
To catch the best of them
So I’ve found the skeezy
With my mother-fucking prerogative

I built a nice and cozy
6 foot comforter
An uncles intelligence
And my pure brilliance
To take this fucker
This leach of an innocent
To that: a rat
To nibble on the little
Toes of
The mother-fucking rest of him
The lout, the host
Is in the grave.

Bushy Eyes (day 1052)

You kind of end up asking the questions that resonate, that jive, that give way to concerned thought and pulsing consciousness. But this is ok, because we’re not supposed to be answering all the questions in monotone, in urban drawl.

Suicide mission.

And when you forget where you live like some kind of filtering drain spout garberating windowless dreams down conformity’s empty hole, you hesitate to ask the questions like my three lettered ‘why’.

It’s going to be ok because I’m going to strap on my wide brimmed cap and lift my eyes towards soulless sunsets and ignore the white short legged dogs roaming these parts. I don’t pat your back because I’ve got angels leaving dust spots, I pat your back because my bushy eyes have bat one – then the other – eye lashes; together independently.

How many moon cries, moon cries.

Leave my moonshine on the dog leash and flatten my glass nose-hips to rose my soft songs. I’m not a lover, I’m a lost song with in-articulate mumbles. I’m Bob Dylan relaxing on the beach with god-spoken sun beams brightening up my day. Loose my verbage you tongue tied nymph dancing about my state of arousal.

Who’s excuse is better? Who is remarkably left alone and wishing for silence. Who’s hands are rattling about the tin drum.

Who is resonating?

White Flag (day 542)

The torment of age pulls at every crevice of my countenance it can find
Dropping my cheeks into a hollow pit of agony only my mirror doesn’t grimace at
Hair streaking with uninterrupted hurt, curling the edges of my toes
Pulling me into a shallow slouch the clock on the wall envies

So where did the first signs of this painful agony surface
A gloom so rich with heartache and pitiful distrust even Demeter would cry for
In spite visible agony the poison tipped arrow repeatedly plunges
Unstoppable in its fury to forget that which hurt the lovers

With cries that rang out into the mild winters night alone
Lightly highlighted clouds turned in their unrest
Dancing with Hades around the fire of revenge
Unbeknownst to them white flags suffocated their children

Hurry in an Angels grace, with all lost reasons
Against all miseries of yesterdays woes
Into the hands weeping eyes have never sanctified
Into a lover yet to rectify his love for you

Disrupting The Peace (day 445)

Gawking here at that fine element of morals
Stepping aside for only the cracks
Enemies launch at the side of your being
Purveyors balk at your coming countenance

All through the streets
The lights turn their glow
The snickers come now
Out from below

Put on for the war cries
Lashed out for dispute
Sinners and followers
Walk on in a row

Disrupting the peace
The ancient birds to declare
At once, set in flight
The cats they all glare

With leather pulled tight
Dark hair everywhere
The riddler launches on
Night showers the air

I Shall One Day Wake (day 300)

I struggle
I struggle
I struggle
And I see

I push
I push
I push
And I feel

But for all these errors
For all the hours a dark
When the wind cries softly
I shall blow my faithful winds
Sitting amongst the poplars
With eyes so content and far
The whispers of my fathers
Caress me with these stars
Shaping my immediate thought
So profoundly that I begin
To shake from the inner confines
Of my scared and lonely soul
I shall one day wake
From this horrible torment
I face with every breath
I shall not walk alone