A Rock To Rest Upon (day 2632)

Beside the pine tree I asked your name
(You said you’d jumped before)
I looked and saw deep into your eyes
No lie I heard, none to be turned
– A raven, dark as night
Glistening while watching from a perch;
A sandpiper enjoying the light breeze;
A darkened snake with golden eyes
Making a long line in the sand –
I was not lost here, no need to be found
Not very far but away.
I took the moment to touch lightly
St. John Wort growing wildly ’round
Which danced upon my heart into
A memory I never knew I had,
And there at last, under the bridge
That spoke of childish games,
I found a rock to rest upon
Tranquil from tormenting rain.

Curious (day 2616)

I’m exhausted underneath
I didn’t expect the gambler
Here I am, an empty hand
Plans for regrowth
For blossoms, for extreme divinity
Reigning down upon the grounds.
I have let grow such vigor,
Wild abandon, wilderness.
I have put it upon the ground,
Walked back ten paces,
Stood aside, silenced myself
And begun to observe
With the patience of a snake
How curious it all looks from here.

Anymore (day 2487)

This is a passing by
A non-chance at running along
Losing hope in a rubbage pile
Of inconsistent bragging
Long lines that snake around
Two solid posts marked in red
Avoiding damage of the worst kind
While still maintaining
An innocent truth
Explaining how we just don’t know anything
Anymore.

Silent Back Support (day 2405)

When are you going to turn the music back on?
I’ve sat her for a while now
Wondering to myself
Should I suggest a new album
Or enjoy the silent humming
Visiting my ouroboros thought pattern.
I picture something with a nice bassline
Hopefully some creamy smooth lead
That will do a better job
Of snaking my thoughts around
Too many small stools
Lacking proper back support.

Early Confessions (day 2377)

I’ve been believing in you too much
Saturday night snakes around
Calling out each stop light blinking
Do you know me? – deep understanding.

Rummaging in my missing backpack
For an unused silver dollar
Where did my pens run to?
I’m not the same you used to be.

Hope here for a river running
Where my deepness cannot outstanding
Floating on my finally lasting
I’m now two pages confessing.

Turning Outlaw Again (day 1825)

I’m turning outlaw again,
My stinging words will pierce thy soul
And my fists will bleed my wicked ways,
I’ll drink my beer warmer then
My women have ever been.
I’m turning down the next dusty road
Handing over my soft spoken ways
For rowdy bars and snake tattoos
I’ll start to hiss with the devils drink.
I’m turning outlaw again,
My gang will be 20 strong
On an open road,
Our clubhouse filled with naked women
Who have signed their posters on the walls.
Saw toothed barbed wire
Will be our backup guard dog
And strapped in a leather sheath to my hip
Will be the deadliest blade known to man.
I’ll shoot my shotgun out the back door
At empty beer cans from the night before,
And all my cigarette smoke
Will lead me to toke,
Cause baby, I’m turning outlaw again.

Rowboat (day 1658)

A sadness which has my heart is the deepest joy I have ever known. A snaking coil in my veins that surges with pressure of an ancient gale, fierce in spirit, surfacing upon it’s vista. I have come to realize I am the coloration, the reminiscent artifact of ashes smearing an impossible black sand beach at the head of the trust waters. My song is what trees sway to, sitting about the shoreline untouched by humanity’s destructive progress and filled with such contrast, from lightness to a darkness deep within the bosom of her mossy embrace. My song reaches to the toenails while standing barefoot upon this cold black sand, embracing wind as it blows every last hair drawn fabric about thy heart. My heart is forever in liberty, just as these black pebbles cackle at retreating waves. My heart is a mariner with a squint of foggy shorelines, and my sadness is forever the rope mooring our rowboat beached upon this black sand beach.

Rowboat-by-Ned-Tobin

Crispy Wallows (day 1593)

Crispy wallows and snakes following ancient trails down spirals, leading only to a perfectly spherical, blood-moon-packed dirt bubble where one thousand and one perpendicular lines scarred concave smoothness, remarkably resembling an eerie odessical scene of Labyrinth, David Lynch infused simplicity and snakes. With an omnipresent light leaving no shadows, even in such depths, that echoed with every heartbeat snaking it’s way downward, downward, downward until the downward was no longer downward but stuck in a simple sphere, simply circled as if snakes and ladders were suddenly trapped in an empty crystal ball bubbling with misunderstood and toppled (read:shook) reason that inhabitants were too impatient to digest, leaving perpendicular marks in frightened terror as retraced steps traced their snaking along ancient trails back into the under-root of an atmospheric tragedy they had become familiar with and called home.

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.