Don’t Walk: Run (day 875)

Deceive me without eyes beyond clicks of ancient truths that flow like feathers around the citadel, dancing nimbly about while systems shriek in glory-warrior-cries echoing through the midnight sky.

I will not be plundered, wallowed into sober thoughts while brightly colored patrons and ladies of shallow rooms get lost in their own smirking madness that filters ancient wisdom, solid grains of smoke filtering down silk sheets mesmerizing wild charletons with holy charms and glittered dancing.

Trees that flower madness can only hold back repeating chants that break shrouding silence echoing through walls plied thick with rice paper. Concubines shuttling in asynchronous chaos holding lanterns and ringlets and long slender blades through their hair pretending each step means a little more than the last.

How could I stop when I, half naked in the moonlight grasping at smouldering clouds passing through open spaces in the starlit sky. I curled up my toes and dipped my hips while pushing against the tops of my mouth. I’ll elope with whoever I please if it’s all the rage in Little Japan Town. Circling around the erect landscape staring back at me like some Hamilton at the top of the mountain.

Get back to business before light comes up over the left side of the highway. I’m on my way out and this ain’t lookin too happy with all my flowers wilting in darkness’ hour. Cry, with unbounded jubilee, cry those beautiful eyes till their bottom-of-the-shoe-black. Cry until neighbourhood dogs bark along to sorrow and malaise because they bloody well can, they can rip their lungs out and feed them down their throats while licking their lips and begging for more.

Don’t walk: run. Run until running speeds up to faster running and sprinting begins to bleed and basterds start to bleed and whispers start to bleed and candles begin to bleed and pencils begin to bleed and bleeding begins to bleed and all the screaming children yell at the top of their lungs and sit there and wallow in sorry they haven’t even begun to understand because THEY JUST AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH.

I’m just not happy enough.

Faintest Scent (day 650)

Into the faintest scents of memories
The world whispers it’s answers
Up and beyond leftover thought
That faintly caress hovering fading light

[Past shuffling feet
That arch through cobblestones
Past empty mouths
That gape wide at silent sidewalks]

Like smoke in humid shadows
With careful fragmentations floating
Full of unanswered love letters
That lingering gospel subdues
With spoken promises

A shifting presence marks its space
With hidden answers carved into air
Whirl winds here collapse time
And carry fading light into darkness

Shippin’ Off Blues (day 638)

Blues running through my veins like a thousand year old steam train
Shufflin’ with rhythm unprecedented, unfounded, and glorious
Hustlin’ with mood set out for bad-ass gangsters fixing for the night

I’m gone baby, I’m ready for the big show
I’ve been shining these here two toned, Italian made leathers far too long
I’m shipping off in the next thing that moves
Towards better days with freedom I call home

Fixating on darker things of the night
Little noises
Smoke wafting up fedora covered heads
Huddled around the exclusive club
Ladies with silk dresses courtin’ slips
Not of tongues, but of long slender lines that draw up the side of a beautiful woman’s leg
Moonshine whiskey in small parlour glasses that clink with each sip from thawing rocks

Baby, I’ve got the blues tonight
Steady glow from jukebox blues
Ol’ wooden chairs that drag on hardwood floors
Pompadours for men with long chains scraping round the ground
Bouffants on pretty ladies with elbow length satin gloves
Sittin’ ‘mongst the men, leanin’ on tables and chairs
And Lady Theodore, the spectacle of my amazement
The light of the establishment
Glory and style and beauty encapsulated

I’m hustlin’ tonight baby
I’m ready for the big show
I’m shippin’ off ‘n the next thing that moves

Dust (day 472)

A lonely seat that waits at the end of the bar
Clears the cobwebs from ones imagination
Marrying innocence to thick laid smoke dust
That one can never quite resist smudging

Perhaps that’s when the ghosts return
Walking in like they’ve never left the place
Light beams catch the dust they turn up
Barkeep still remembers their favorite drink

Their old friends come up and say hi again
Laughing as if one am just rolled around
Not enough, but still a lot
They wont be going home early tonight

The bottles at the top call out quietly
Asking what day it is today
It always speaks in that aged, wise way
That understands it’s all going to be alright

But where did my companions all go
The rest of them dance around here merrily
Red cheeks and full bellies roll
And the door swings shut, silence spills around