Eroding (day 2050)

Loveless and love loss
The nature of a sulk’n heart
Band around my middle name
Forever leaving marks

River runs through every rock
Stepping off the dock
Eroding goes away my time
Raven watches mine

Truth displayed upon deep bark
Mountain high, valley low
Scratching at my back
Needles upon our heavy ground

Moon at Midnight – Part XXXXXXXIII (day 2047)

(part XXXXXXXII)

I surprised myself at how passionate I became
And took Willow to bed
We lay there, forehead to forehead
Sharing our hearts and souls
Through our eyes, our breath
Our souls entwined like our very essences
A mixture of meaning and questions
Desire and passion
A giving and taking and listening and sharing
One that we spoke in ten thousand languages
When she kissed me I was at once a victim
Then an accomplice
Then I was the fever incomprehensible
And then just as quickly
Transformed back into the listener.

I experienced an epiphany that night
That I never really truly felt before
And that was the feeling of One
That my thoughts
Were just as relevant as Willow’s thoughts
That she had mine and I had hers
And that we were both at the same time
Quite on opposite sides of the same breath
Her ebb was my flow
But our build was the same
I felt it as I held her
And she moved with me and against me
We began glowing together
I experienced a union
Then stepped back and observed the separation
I learned the experience of true love
Fully loving
Which was both giving and taking
At the same time
Both nothing and everything
Both silence and screaming
Like I said, epiphany.

That night I bowed down to the deep connection
I felt and experienced so intimately with Willow
I thanked my fingers for finding me so
I thanked my breath for filling me so
I thanked my eyes for focusing me so
I thanked my heart for fueling me so
I thanked my knees for bending me so
I thanked Willow, deeply, powerfully
With words that meant ten thousand things
With embraces that held ten thousand meanings
With tears that sprung ten thousand rivers
With motion that turned ten thousand days
Past moons that shone at midnight.

// end

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.

Ode to the River (day 1762)

From your wild edges I stand
Your mysterious torrent
Carries my heart back and forth
Up and down
Catching little glimpses of what
Dares to ride your furious wave
And my imagination takes me wildly
Over and around the sharp rocks
I know you pass by
For I, standing here,
In awe upon the jagged edges
Of my wildest imaginations
By your side
Perched upon the sharp ledge
With a vantage of your toil.

Thompson River just East of Kamloops

Counting (day 1650)

From my angle I wasn’t the nerd,
I had the best cold coffee
Settling in the bottom of my to-stay mug,
Rattling around the inside
Of my drastically hungry belly.
I had too many ideas to be passive
And in discourse with unfriendly patrons.

Why are you smiling at me, saying hello?
I’m on the other side of the room.
Can’t you see my furrow, blinded by dull lights?
Perhaps I’m the unfriendly one.

From my angle, I was the mission.
I had written the outline and
Focus was my middle name.
The timer was ticking and
I wasn’t wasting motivation
On Whiskey River in the Jar’O. 
I had water to accompany the drip.

Keep the lights low and let
This chaotic music recklessly skip
Into oblivion my cycling mind 
Which cannot refuse to be free.

From my angle I had a perfect view
Of both the flighty pixie,
Distracted with a proper stein,
And the siren gently calling my name.
I knew her, of course,
One of the few to break this furrow
And cause me to tarry by name.

Thus, I aggressively gather my activist heart
And settle my score with a battling pickaxe
And two shiny 2013 quarters
That rattle over the buzz and out the door.