Dusty Boulders (day 1857)

Take this blood and run it along an irregular line from here to there, for there is no longer a fountain of youth screaming for more sticks and balls; left for dead there is only a pulse of electricity surging away into a stream of monotony.

But where does each screaming echo fall?

Twisting it’s way through sandstone crevices along a dried river basin, footsteps led aimlessly uphill in search of a higher plateau that might offer a view of the future, or lead to a three feet wide round door of periscope and a three strands of hemp rope holding a dangling sign that read: “Welcome. Please come in.”

If all was lost, there would be no now, for now is not lost as a pinch can accost.

While large maple leaves unfurled to beckon in the Summer, a slow and sweet amulet of sweat rested nicely between the bosom of naked pixie, casually watching the dried river splash over dusty boulders.

Awake (day 1540)

When I’m awake I find balancing points
That trickle down through clouds and metaphors
Like sapphire jewels having a field day in stage lights.
I watch children sprinkle their knees with pixie dust
And women walking with protest signs
Covered in bloody tampons.
I cover my muesli in chia seeds and hemp hearts
Because I believe in a well balanced diet,
And stay up late at night with my lover, naked,
Talking about what turns us on.
When I’m awake I’m a well versed man
Who believes in a conversation
That can change the world,
And as I do this I break down my understanding
Of how the world can change.
I’ll always believe,
I’ll always buy second hand and resell what I don’t need
To a kind soul with a good home,
I’ll always enjoy gardens that feed my mind, body and soul
Like a calming glass of water,
I’ll always walk with my heart open,
And if that doesn’t make me balanced,
Then it’s sink or swim for me
In this world spinning like an old Russian top.
And I’m not afraid to admit that I’m not awake all the time
Because fuck, we all need balance.

Necromance (day 1523)

How can hallmark decay such strength
That whips about this storm?
A glass amongst dewy grass
Strays memories into this ‘bow.
I have called out to where I’m deeply lost,
I have called to whom I’m sold,
I have called upon a Prince
That left me floating in a sea,
Upon a piece of pixie dust
That was soaked into a cube.
Laying ‘mongst the willows in
A lost state of reverence,
A charmer came and held my snake
And fed me necromance.

My Illument Back (day 1158)

Should you have rolled me into that pixie white gown?
I laughed with the mariners first touch of ground.
Fire is a gentle nature and this is my bed,
Candles sing songs lingering on into eve.

You are the nature and I am the dreamer,
I am the weaver and you are my story.

My delicate folding showed my illument back,
Stark in this darkness which I escaped into dreams.
Your seaman’s hoarseness upon my plumped, splayed curls,
Changing hands with a thousand dusting fairies.

You are the nature and I am the dreamer,
I am the weaver and you are my story.

And this morning dew and fog brings adieu,
Seaman cold thunderstorm, restless I blow the wind.
Boots go away knocking: your only whispers I can hear.
Untying knots and a lover’s foreign spices.

Dainty Little Pixies (day 1010)

Could law we broke figuratively
Demand our justice?
Like clippings sealed in thick books
Observing penance,
Freely battling justifications
And counting down days until extinction.

A cold winter’s breath blows
While a dainty little pixie dances
Towards destruction’s edge.
Flirting with every step,
Every essence of being,
Until fluttering about in a daze;
Imploding into decay

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

Warm Whispers (day 116)

Slowly dancing down the steeply inclined staircase
Mending broken bones with happy thoughts and
Careless nights and too many insufficient lights
Making up lost time with tension high and
Premarital blissful sinful rupturing like cool nights
Of fourth of July celebrations you never
Quite let go hands with and always remember
The feel of that tingling anticipation.
Or was it just a pixie that held hands
With the moon and danced a strange song
Around your head as you woke from the dream.
To lazy to reach, but to awake to not notice
How many little spaces there were amongst
The glowing daylight.

…And listen; I think she’s calling.