There are leftover bottles
Sitting on a dusty piano
Forgotten in the corner
Singing heartfelt bluegrass
To drunken loners
Habitually smoking
Leftover cigarollas
From playboys and their lovers
Who wore deep pocketed holes
In a beer stained dance floor
That sang hip songs
From an old jukebox
With burnt out numbers
Shuffling in the corner
All night long.
Tag: holes
Anachrome (day 1087)
Anachrome brought me here:
Leveled the forest floor
And dug the deep holes
That left me homeless.
I wrestled with fate.
I angled my history towards
Chemical baths and
Burning blow torches.
Then I left in distance.
With mud huts and ivory
And skinny dipping clear-cuts.
Like a woodpecker on a telephone pole.
There was no death.
No marked spot for execution,
Hanging noose or bullet hole.
Anachrome lived in smoke.
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
Discarded (day 825)
Your memory burns holes in my completed journal
Dragging the p’s & j’s around like children in a mall
Pulsing through anything close enough to shake pixie dust upon
Twirls and whistling and long jackets in the night
You’ve wrinkled my conscience into sincere betrayal
Forgotten rhythm through night’s air
Leaving stranded the automobile it drove in on
While cat walking down graces majesty
This is my heart as it dies upon the ground
Squirming into uneasy night streets
Strangled by daylights necromancing
Leaving gutters full of old class notes
Don’t Cry Father (day 479)
Without words there are no places to fit between the spaces that occupy the recesses of this lucid destined body
The examples of torture don’t phase thine countenance for they wreak not havoc upon the brain
Sure, in the sweet of night nestled amongst the cute lovers sleeps a sound, resolute companion
But the sounds that spread outward from the turmoil keeps even the lifeless awake at night
Perhaps it’s the bitter truth that doesn’t comply with the answers that have fallen into the cracks
The same cracks which have begun to play upon the misfortune that crawls out of the drainage pipes that lay rusting
Lack of use caresses even the sweet droplets of dust that dance around every corner of the damage
Don’t cry my dear mother, the day had to come eventually even if we wanted to abandon all that stinks of the truth
Don’t cry my dear lover who swirls around the nights thoughts with a magic only fitting for a witch
Don’t cry father, sent away is the bitterness that never had a safe storage space in your towering cabinets of force
And onwards and upwards the sands spin and roll and create new spaces in the holes that have been abandoned
Despise the coward who among all whispers and shouts at the same two demons, unable to answer his own requests
Rest now, in this sweet night that nestles itself amongst the cold flaps of a long draped winter jacket
Rest dear lover on the sweet thought that one more day shall come where only the good times will pass by your mind
Fear not the answers you have known the whole time