Sweet Aroma (day 1319)

Sweet romantic raindrops held out their hands
For my memories and heart splashes.
But I’ve already paid for the month,
I brought my warm sweater;
I’ve come for the show.

Two ladies danced into the night,
Slow waltzes around and around
As I sketched out the scene with dirty charcoal.
Hands in the air and sing out the song,
Pale spotlight in a smokey saloon.

Girls Dig Them (day 956)

I wear my vintage sweaters everywhere
They make me feel hip
Like Patti Smith mixed with Albert Collins
Kind of cool to the bone cat

It’s convenient because when it’s cold
I’ve got protection
Layered into vintage wools
And historic oranges

I used to care more about the holes
But now they’re marked with untold stories
Some days, if I’m feeling adventurous
I’ll make stories to fill them up

But mostly I just like the smell
Curling around me and calling me theirs
And the girls dig them
Especially when it’s cold out

Old Favorite Sweater (day 930)

I’ve unconditionally surrendered my old favorite sweater
It’s ok, I like her
But… there’s something about it
There’s a beat-up-rusty-truck memory
With worn seats – yellow foam surprises
You know, a once-was-navy-blue bench seat
Shift-knob-black that knows my sentimental touch
Caressing like I’ve driven her well
Like I’ve taken care not to drip gas-o-line
Checked the oil twice a month
And kept the tires at an even thirty five p-s-i

Perhaps the memories are shared with
These in-animate things
These pieces of fabric and steel-workers toil
That warm those chilling days
That don’t quite sit flush the whole way down
Letting familiar drafts rush up the back
Hands in my pocket

Perhaps this is why I smile when she’s wearing it
After all, it’s alright to let these things
Live a life of their own
To sit me down and coo in my ear
Hot chocolate and unconditional
Kind of love

Close Wrapped Scarf (day 925)

Side-parts in earthy blues and olive green sweaters
Concealing checkered button-up fireplace specials
Hot chocolate dreams of roasted coffee cups
That sit upon crumbly coasters with one small stirring spoon
Christmas with Louis, his horn bringing in the cold
Like the plethora of close wrapped scarves
And men in skinny jeans
With that familiar smell of roasting
Soaking into my own being
Casually making my two inch wooden table
Lament the Ikea special bendy plastic backs
That just speak of too much trying

Lost in the Cycle (day 174)

Abuse me, like a well worn sweater
Worn down from the gravity of time
Warmed over from a cold wind
Fall leaves, slowly spinning
Downward, with the passage of time
Upwards with the momentum of life
Through, within, alive, growth

We live in blissed blasphemy
Secretly kissing the angels
Of the memories we once longed for
To late, time doesn’t wait
Downward, downward, downward they fall
Screaming for glory, one last moment
Alive, grasping, dead, cycle