We scowered fresh cut grass
For uncovered rocks to pick
Hidden boulders ‘midst the ruff
Half sunken in disguise
Some so deep, so gargantuan
More than 5/6 buried hard
That one must scratch and dig
To get a good firm hold
And then with all one’s greatest might
Pull and pull some more
So that at last
A fissure developes
Besides the edge of rock
Back and forth some more one grinds
Loosening up the stubborn stone
Until at last, triumphantly
Emergent from the ground!
Tag: dig
Chains (day 2143)
I have launched my Saturn
To lasso my stronghold
About the trunk of an old fir
And in my harness
That I have so carefully filtered
I can see tire marks
Destroying the delicacy
So carefully planted before me.
My disrespecting synonyms
Displace me
Yet from this angle
My six shooter chops each antagonist
Down to their knees
To which I show no mercy
I have no mercy
For the main target
Of the world I’ve come to
Heavily breathe in
Lies stickered to the souls
Of garbage bins discarded.
So, I carefully sign my name
To hand written documents
That address my stronghold’s weakness
And dig my stick
Into footpaths abandoned,
And rip the flagging
From mouth of hungry chains
Replacing raindrops
With Spring snowdrops.
Dress Shoes That Don’t Fit Properly (day 1680)
Lightly stepping
Digging
Height adjustment
Sensations (day 1395)
A feeling of high lifting
Tingling sensations;
Crawling and digging
And reaching these finest points
Of the richest parts
Of Love’s bountiful ocean.
Left Shoes (day 1091)
She’s backstage
And I’ve been driving,
Reckless I know by name.
Shaking as high school.
And I’m a virgin.
Wet dick and anticipating
Romance full of pretending,
Two eyes on a 4:45 am highway.
Nerves and highway straits.
Tight and
Six low balls
Running circles ’round my
Jitter-bug baloos.
Scutter-bug blues.
Ain’t singing sister shows
Nothing wrong with going solo.
Motown and their twisting tu-tus.
And I’m in a stinky ward,
And the girls round here like digging.
And I got a girl who’s a dig.
Girls Dig Them (day 956)
I wear my vintage sweaters everywhere
They make me feel hip
Like Patti Smith mixed with Albert Collins
Kind of cool to the bone cat
It’s convenient because when it’s cold
I’ve got protection
Layered into vintage wools
And historic oranges
I used to care more about the holes
But now they’re marked with untold stories
Some days, if I’m feeling adventurous
I’ll make stories to fill them up
But mostly I just like the smell
Curling around me and calling me theirs
And the girls dig them
Especially when it’s cold out
She’s Cheeky (day 754)
She’s cheeky
She tells me to stop
That poetry is dead
ALL POETS MUST DIE
She yells in caps lock
I lament and dig
Into the bowels
Of my horror
Of my rhythmical
Regurgitating madness
To give reason
For my exploration
These darkened spaces
These sappy ballads
My arching expressions
Into confusions womb
Like battle scars
Pocking my being;
Unsettling patrons
Horrifying relations
Yet I try
I push out my heart
Bleed it upon death
Illuminated pixels
Spare tablets
Leftover envelopes
And just push play