Opening door
Holy roller
Betting on good times
Hand full of roses.
Opening heart
Small bag of essences
Dripping in gold
Hot bed of desire.
Opening trail
Gorging thrill.
Random my choice,
Hammering noise.
Tag: gold
OK, Lovely (day 1469)
Ok, lovely,
Choose a delicate dance
With sitars, tablas
And magical finger symbols
To gaze upon at request.
Choose a fine hearted view,
Wobbling blue birds
And squabbling hens.
Choose elaborate decor,
Gray walls with fancy lace,
Antlers painted gold,
Desire painted red.
Choose heart,
For nothing else matters.
Science World at Dusk (day 1466)
Triangulated globe
Flashing gold
Amidst alchemy
Gold in My Heart (day 1271)
This golden light shines from above,
With a randsom note for two saviors I know.
I’m afraid to think of how they’ll go,
Because I’m wise enough to know they’ll say:
“A thousand plans don’t make a man.”
Free me, my heart yells free me
My soul speaks of freedom
My eyes are wide.
Free me, my heart yells free me
My windows are gleaming
Like golden inside me.
I’ve been straddling here with two ears to the wind,
Like a rambling band, it would seem old skin.
There’s a sad song I keep humming out loud,
To go along with this hour of magnificent doubt;
I’ve decided to pray for my heart today.
Free me, my heart yells free me
My soul speaks of freedom
My eyes are wide.
Free me, my heart yells free me
My windows are gleaming
Like golden inside me.
A gypsy woman that I sent away,
Came back again with some more to say.
I wasn’t wise so I let her stay.
To my soul’s demise, I have been led astray,
But to my open eyes, I’ve never cried before.
Free me, my heart yells free me
My soul speaks of freedom
My eyes are wide.
Free me, my heart yells free me
My windows are gleaming
Like golden inside me.
Life That (day 1231)
This isn’t my coming out chant
This isn’t my remember the good ol’ days rap
No, this isn’t the kind of shit you’d expect from me
Where soft glow combines with a real desire
Spreading out like wings
No, this is a truth experiment
This is raw discussion
Morphine true-isms
Blisters spreading about the exposé
Peeling back: non-relent
You see, nothing’s been hard
No part of life’s been a chore
There’s never a day gone by
When I’ve been forced to stare at the walls
So uncomfortably spread that rot is my vice
There’s a dollar sign around my halo
With uncomfortable silence when bills drop on bills
There’s a memo on my desk
Reminding me to keep track of the present
This all fails to phase me
Rolling around in steel balls that shatters silently
When haters start slinging their gorilla lyrics
Hiding in my deepen’d billfold
And there’s glass, there’s glass scraping little lines
Across my weather strengthened back
Yet, I’m not your typical chump
Squealing my daddies gold in rubber exhaust
I’m a hustler crushing pimp
Not a player pickin’ easy cherries
Playing a role, playin a mother fuckin role
Buying into a toll booth
That flips my hard edge into
Magnified chocolates and fluffed pillows
And a silk god damn flower
I take opportunities in the present
The big rolls that die hard
Rise and fall, and rise again
It’s my game, I take two dollars
Exchange them into five
Because I’ve been bred well
Learned from the best
I’ve taken one-two-three strategy
Added on my own strong fourth
Funny thing about this mastery
Is the only competition I find
Comes out from where the wolves hide
From the silent arch ways
That reach out and bite when you turn your back and hide
I fight it, with intelligence…
With awareness and exposition
Omnipresence is not a myth
Omnipresence manhandles the unaware
Blissfully slouching at the solid wood table
A Summer Fling (day 1156)
Last drops of day amplified
By a sweet fringe of gold
Hovered dangerously close
To skin so tempered
Of a midsummer nymph.
Rings of fire shrieked;
Lost breath halted thought
While the dancer tiptoed about
Like a midnight rehearsal.
Transition From Hurt to Love, and then Back Again (day 1092)
..And there were golden letters.
[Can I finally tell you?]
Like streams lapping mossy brooks,
To which my gloss rolled over.
In spite my anarchy,
My self propulsion…
Towards your grace.
I left slipping,
Jumping to and fro
Unto my broken jaw,
Lifelessly turning me over
Into airbrushed aluminum oxide.
Geometrically tracing
My bloodless sorrow
Into triangles
[Non-conducive triangles]
That weaved my sorrow
Into perfect pitches
[Acute pitches]
Hallowing my desire
Into five unspoken pledges,
Five needle point succulents
Layering my borders
Like foggy rolling alcoves
Set deep amongst
Cool summer’s afternoon
Wheeping willow rushes
– faint memories about this seascape –
But my layered angles sheltered me
From petty hearts that soothed me
To make my sleepless nights
Ever lonely, evermore.
A riddle I can’t play just so.
But lighting candles
That broke into my bedroom
And watched my brow quiver
As morning wretched it’s yawning
About the dusty trails,
I traced an even pathway
In triangles, forever faster
Until my morning had at last come
Filled with ancient rhythm.
Eyes so better clearer
Than one thousand lenses focused
On a heart so muddy [clearer].
I held onto my breath
Until anxious had subsided,
For I could not remember
What words had come before it.
And in such built excitement
A heart did flutter on,
Lost but not forgotten
Into books of golden letters
– Bound with broken arrows –
That felt so narrow holding
Pieces of leather’d sorrow
[Remember bloodless triangles]
That wept a stainless trail
From deep within desperation
Into worn hands of a savior
Who whittled out a triangle
To feed alotted perscriptions
With ever nimble fingers
Soaked in rosé water
And dried with ancient scrolls
Written in a forgotten language
That told of a lost soul
Who pledged a life to quill
Written in golden letters
And tied with broken arrows.
Words he’d lost to scrolls.
A heart he’d bled for food scraps
To feed his lifeless voodoo doll
Filled with needled pin holes
And scarred with a single triangle
Between worn out eye holes.
And written just below it
In tiny golden letters
Was ‘dia de la muerte’,
And the eyes all turned to sun
That grasped their holy language,
Blinding them to forgiveness
In smokeless trans-am tires
With a golden eagle flying.
This was not the end of stardust,
Not a burning pledge for Satan,
Not midnight’s showdown in dusty boots.
This was the last redemption hour,
A stained wedding gown and laughter.
And two boots made of leather
Tied tight with broken arrows,
Tracing triangles in the dirt
At gun points scary tremor.
Written neatly in a book
In perfect golden letters
Signed only with a triangle.
Dress Rehearsal Stranger (day 1089)
I’m a dress rehearsal stranger
Without a fixing for the road.
I’ve been picking up the faggots
That get me kicked out of the bars.
Did you walk away a stranger
Cause you were too caught up in gold?
Or was the ever piercing sidewalk
Grabbin’ tight your leathered soles.
Melting through my summer windscreen
Before the widows shake their brooms.
We were wrestling with officers
Gettin’ some fiction on their tongues.
Laughing without smiling
It’s been a mighty cold balloon.
I haven’t forgotten promises
With cheap hotel hookers
But the minister I never knew
Said, “Man, it’s not right timing after all.”
For there was one forgotten apple
That lay rotting on the ground
Which everybody avoided
Conscious fingers up their nose.
Butler’s on my side
To tell me all he had to say
Which was spoken very dryly
As he fit the classic part.
So I knew at that very moment
All their was ever said to know,
Which took me down to Georgia
To lay down my old guitar.
Harmonizing (day 1027)
For all that I could remember, for all I could ever remember, for all the times that I dusted off my aching knees to build up my power of love that thrust my gold into the clear blue skies; it was all I was, all I cared to be, all I had dreamed of being, all that was allowed to rest – to be the remnants of some hard played game digging into worn parts of my gloves.
For without these delightful glories (curdling my cream and harmonizing my deep south Presbyterian choir) I was merely a soldier. A hard edged, fine tuned, stainless steel blade of America’s finest earth (plus of course the blood, sweat, and rock hard fists heft my direction). Hardly left a consequence upon my check-marked debriefing.
Here I stood in future’s year, inhaling deep to remember what it felt like laying on the freshly mowed grass in the heat of summer, slow moving cars rolling along manicured gravel. An itch, creeping in and lingering a while as momma’s freshly squeezed – and heavily iced – lemonade tinkled around inside a transparent and sweating summer repair.
But now I wasn’t heading here or there. I wasn’t coming or going. I wasn’t even known amongst the squirrels and bluejays and Chester, the neighbor’s dog, had wilting flowers.
You cannot crush what once lived inside a boy. A man can not fall flat and lie upon his back and let these thoughts turn and turn and turn without the understanding of what has come to pass. Much like Tchaikovsky’s flurrying madness, torrent thoughts arrest my secret moments until the uneven dice with blank looking stares roll the number five five times in a row. To end a second chapter but never ending. Never an end. Never to be ended.
Without knowing then, I was knocking at a door I had left without looking back. A door that still had a mesh pane to keep out the flies. A door that creaked and banged shut no matter how slow it was released. A door that acted as the liaison between country folk and their well meaning manner. A door that punctuated my knocking and brought old – as in aging – footsteps squinted hard to recognize the stranger the stood just on the other side.
Dispelled Legions (day 900)
Legions of piping bands
Tunics bedazzled with
Ten foot peacock feathers
Rubies hemmed with gold
Chin straps and rosy lips
While out of breath
Gasping for breath
Left right left
Left right left
To the tune of ancient mariners
Ramshackled by a recent gale
Lonely and bygone
But strapped with infinite hope
Discovering smiles
On passing children
Who stop and stare
Slack jawed and dreaming
Holding mother’s pant leg close
And the song chirps loudly
As all of us dream
Focused determination spreads
About each members mane
They walk the fine line
Between 7th and Fraser
15th and Vine
On past these streets
In a cold autumn breeze
Biting into saturated spectators
With empty bottles of hot chocolate
Rattling along with cold children
And dispelled souvenirs