Beautiful lines
Caress my pages –
Align my moments
With mysterious sages,
Which leaves me sitting
Amidst my cages
Wondering devilishly
Where art thy key?
Tag: key
I Was There (day 3092)
I was there
I walked that plank
I nodded and sang
And tipped my hat
To the crew that crept
Along the bank
I held the door
And held the hand
And held the keys
And met the man.
Fallen / Left (day 2553)
I could be falling over you,
Knocked down by time
Left here to wind my way
About books and seeds
And burnt candles
Handled by delicate hands
To the tune of Chopin
Rustling pages of a score
Over aged ivory keys
On a wooden floor
Showing signs of nostalgia
In gray and white carvings,
Had I known any better.
Sewers (day 1915)
It is my check into reality moment
My hero’s capacity
My fatale coup with ignorant blinds up,
Two short skips and plastic bags
Street lamps clanging away
To the tune of some bastard child’s nickel
And the corner store is closed now
So cigarettes will have to wait
Until I can find a better reason
To let my keys fall
Into sewers of my memory.
Inside Our Pulse (day 1350)
Hold me as we go out of our heads
And into stardust that
Continually floats about
Uncommon thoughts that live here.
Feel freedom with me,
Hold my hand tight
And sing a song
A little out of key.
Controlled by whipper-wasps,
Heavy in synchronicity
To our beating pulse
Through which our fingers touch.
Dram of Poison (day 994)
A needle digs deeper guiding the well worn thimble on
Scaring dogs, singing and howling like Big Momma John
Like she’s snaking about a pale spotlight covered in sequins
Singing the whole time about a blue moon kissing her empty bottle
And filling each patron of the evening with wonderment
A quiet lady, sitting idle at the bar dressed only in pink
Clinks cold bricks slowly about the smoothed edges of her glass
Pulling at her soul for every single bit of truth she has
With high hopes that this very night will reveal all that could ever be
And harness her abandon like the piano pullin’ Big Momma John in
A mood envelops the patrons, sensually gliding from table to table
Touching far reaching itches only elation and jubilation can satisfy
Like the silver lining on a red velvet goblet
Deadly for all those unaccustomed to these desires
And final, like large Gothic keys hung around the undertakers neck