To Not Feel (day 2974)

Why am I condemned to something I cannot feel
I cannot arise
For in gold there erodes depths of cast
My hands have dried and begun to fade.

There is something that has grown
Not allowed to pursue
A lingering touch held too long.

Without light
Day at once ends
Cold sets in
Song remains silent
Heart enters slumber.

Orbs (day 2966)

I’ve been wondering what could come of me
For I’ve lost my will to give
Alone out here outside of light
Forgotten down the road.
Yet every time I form the words
My answer comes alive
Taking me to the deepest roads
Where at once I come to make
A drop into my pond of stillness
Shattering all wandering thoughts
Into outwardly emanating orbs.

Highway Signs (day 2960)

It pains me that I cannot unleash my soul
And that it sits here, adoring and alive.
It rocks back and forth with comforting movement
Yet lost.
Purple and blue blinking lights
Reminding me of life late at night
That is more or less lost
On a highway road with dull signs
Still too far away to recognize,
So home is yet to become
The place I’m heading for.

I Want to Feel You (day 2952)

I want to feel you
Until the lonesome bubbles
Fade away from my open eyes,
Huddled in the darkness;
Wooden chair holding
My scissors and notebook.
I want to feel you
So the open pages
I haven’t found to mark
Stay to the light
Forever low
Outside your door;
Knocking my heart
Ceases, overwhelmed by thunder.

Beirut (day 2721)

Every time I hear of the city Beirut
I dream of what dreams are made of
There are city lights that wave at me
With a luminosity that cuts through my being
Little chairs with patrons chilling
In a modality unknown to me
But harming with smiles
That feel half drunk and half alive.
My feet rattle off ancient cobblestones
On the better walks of town
But I find the dead alleys
And imagine how many eyes are watching me.
I have companions here
Who sing with instruments only found
Along this edge of the world
And in Gypsy caravans roaming the deadlands.
My lover sleeps with the curtains open
And silk pyjamas that are usually draped
Upon the wooden chair that’s older than I
She burns a scent I can only find here
With old books I cannot read
But admire the covers and the ghosts within
She kisses with a heavy lip
And smiles with a curious snarl
That keeps me here dreaming.

In a Thunderstorm (day 2698)

Pop art killed me in a thunderstorm
There I sat alone
Silenced by modern lights
Suffocating though I drew breath
Yet unconvinced
Crawling deeper within
To the warmth, warmth found
In the mothership womb
Holding me, straight-arm,
At quite a distance
With mechanical arms
Ragged and worn
Tried all I could
Until flashes of light.