Grown (day 2276)

I’ve grown accustomed to pains in my soles
Boots tied tight and laces frayed at the ends.
I keep stepping over large trees
Under foliage so green
And I see old men walking in each bough
Sharing legends with my awake eyes
That keep my mind wandering
Through swamps and glades of spruce
Like a lost soul with a purpose;
A message written on sacred parchment
Enroute to all ends receivable
– Some unaccountable, some trustworthy,
Some in a jam and just looking for a way out –
I like marching and I’m good at it
And I’ve got my home about my back.

Dress Rehearsal Stranger (day 1089)

I’m a dress rehearsal stranger
Without a fixing for the road.
I’ve been picking up the faggots
That get me kicked out of the bars.
Did you walk away a stranger
Cause you were too caught up in gold?
Or was the ever piercing sidewalk
Grabbin’ tight your leathered soles.
Melting through my summer windscreen
Before the widows shake their brooms.

We were wrestling with officers
Gettin’ some fiction on their tongues.
Laughing without smiling
It’s been a mighty cold balloon.
I haven’t forgotten promises
With cheap hotel hookers
But the minister I never knew
Said, “Man, it’s not right timing after all.”
For there was one forgotten apple
That lay rotting on the ground
Which everybody avoided
Conscious fingers up their nose.
Butler’s on my side
To tell me all he had to say
Which was spoken very dryly
As he fit the classic part.
So I knew at that very moment
All their was ever said to know,
Which took me down to Georgia
To lay down my old guitar.

The Game (day 286)

Coerced into the blame game
I felt a little foolish as I washed the red expressions from my skin
I felt in awe as I sprayed down jealousy off the walls
Thrown up there in a fit of disgust
Pent up, for anger never held any grounds close to these blackened soles

There was, however, a time when anger ruled the lands
I vaguely remember those days
When lovers walked hand in hand along the boardwalk
Casting glances over their shoulders
Trying to disguise the thoughts upheld on their brows

Perhaps it was the technological shift that eased the lovers arms from around the clock
As the day shifted into another
As the listless lost little figments of their imagination
To the ever-slowing mechanism of the futures design
To the ever ticking tock of a lovers game