I spoke to you before the call came
Before wind swept the landscape
As barren as the cold snow felt.
I listened to you inside my soul
Open hands and an open heart
Hearing your words,
Your doubly whispered thoughts
Detailed glances
And hands that held a universe of emotions.
I waited for your touch
Like a tall Spruce tree waits out Winter,
Bowing at engagements,
Reflexing against the pressure,
Silently bearing the mounting
Depth of moonlight and dropping temperature
With a full and well understanding
That with it shall come its anti.
Tag: pressure
Edges (day 2851)
It’s not enough to hear your name
– Flicker of hope in my eyes –
I want to consume your name
So each letter feels my tongue
Amidst a mouthful of visions.
I want to hold you to my pressure points
So the forging of our steel
Will create the finest edge
Any blacksmith has ever hammered.
And when my silence is dearly broken,
I want it to be your vision
That subtly slices open my vein
So that I have no separation
Between what you are and I can be,
Where long roads converge
And my stone hones your edge.
Rollin’ (day 2825)
Toothaches and pressure me
I must carry strong
Monday nights and wiffle balls
Seeds sewn in the sun.
Hold your hands
Awake for day
Breath so deep inside
Alert by sense.
Repetitive noise
Thump me in the good
Intended for busy eyes
True competition.
Sense of Love (day 2480)
You know how to check my heart for pressure?
Don’t you with those softening hands?
My interested safety seems to hinge
On your ever growing sending
Of what I could only call a good sense of love
I’ve been in the desert after dark sets
Whispering the flowering cactus chant
That left stars out here blinking softly
And now I’m lying here with your hands
Pressing up against my remaining safety.
Building Pressure (day 2392)
I have a pressure building
That’s escalating reason
Leaving letters that keep running
From my fingers as I’m humming
Working from a simple memory
Along a slowly exhaled breath
Sighing in an audible note softly
And the pressure’s in my throat
Flat e (day 1215)
There’s an undercurrent of pressure
Rolling around like two dollars
In a drunk-night saloon.
I’m making headway on flesh insight
With no time to spare.
Gin’s hovering around
Whispering sweet nothings in my ear
And two dollars keep talking to me.
Two dollars.
Two lone shooting guns
Winking at me from the corner of the room.
I’m lost in a swimming pool
And walking down main street
Whistling a sad song to a lover
Who’s missing from my arm tonight.
It’s a long walk fishing out these memories
With my flat E ringing through
Cobblestones and lampshades,
Dubious shadows I’m not stopping to
Make friends with.
Two dollars.
I’ve made my peace here tonight.
My undercurrent of pressure
Hanging low with the full moon
That’s grabbing at my coattails
As I make my way toward the exit sign.
Into Abandon (day 905)
Forever I walk as lonely gales
Blow against my heart
And sin and passion and ruthless desire
Shocked against pure pressure
Foot for foot I walk the line
That brings on changing weather
So who, but I, am fit to take
This step into abandon
Sinister Dish (day 306)
Sweet sunsets and mangled reminders of the only stages you’ve ever stepped on that collapsed under your pressure and exploded into your dreams of the last days on earth.
Brought to you by the evanescence, the ultra cool but oh so very hot glow that recorded the passing of time with little whispers that spoke to you like a hard boiled egg or a clinking glass of scotch [on the rocks].
Deeper, deeper I desired as I swayed to the easy listening of the devil’s music that crunched my ear drums like the vibrating stool I now sit on.
Perhaps it’s the toxicity of the room that invites me to pray upon my victim with relentless desires only my dilated pupils can explain away as if I was some mute teenager sneaking out the back door a gunnysack full of father’s liquor.
Did I ever run away from that devious sight I had designed from the first time that I set a foot on your precious neck?
I’ve lost two dollars to the little man we’ve befriended for bets that I’ve drunkenly took and never intended to see through till the end like the lot would have hoped I would have.
Yet, like the flame throwing dummies burnt up in the all to familiar smoke of the madness, I too have found my glory box hidden deep beneath my sock drawer with my fifty dollar bills where no man shall ever speak of.
I salute you, tiny panther, I salute your devilish glare as you circle your pray and wait for their moment of weakness and slaughter them in a feast of all that has been and shall ever come to pass.
This is good.
This feeds both our souls.
This proves that the only thing that has ever rolled from the base of this lone tree that stands in our way was the rupture of happiness.
And forever I shall witness the spiderwebs slowly creep further into the corners of my eyes until one day they too shall bear witness to the struggling undergrowth that shall be sworn to secrecy with the stomping foots of the passing time.
Dare to lay down this sinister dish and feed upon my gravely voice and dried up blood spots.
