Leaving (day 2739)

Have you ever had the chance to leave your mind?
Take a running start and leave it down there
Magic in the heart and two more memories.
Makes me wonder where you’ve been gone so long,
Followin’ a path that weaves and lifts
Hollys and ferns and lichen too;
Rhythm and your blue and jubilant see
Fire in the palm of every river in you.

Happy is a guess I never dreamt for me,
I took another train through desert and stream;
Golden hours awaited at the end of a dream,
Though I never dared come again here.
Lonely is a story best served in the dark
That smells of an old wine and gold bound book,
Flipping to a page that never looked so good.
Words don’t make sense, misunderstood,
And a hollow in the voice that spoke to me.
Gibraltar in every step at the foot of the bed;
Carry it again for the weight in my head
Is following a noise at the tip of my tongue,
Carry me alone, so I’ll suffer there instead.

Relapse Saint (day 2368)

My lingering resists death,
It coddles a beat
That speaks only in a muffled tongue
Wishing for a silence
Evening powerlines consume.
Can you collapse here?
My traces will not forgive thee,
They will not remember thee,
And too long ago now
They set thee onto a passenger train
Curling up into a ball
And rambling onward
With wishes
Of a recovering saint
Collapsing into relapse.

Shuffling (day 2318)

I’m not very far
Just a shining star
A beat sent to the night
Half past what was good
Turned into three songs
I’m not shuffling on
Freight train of my night
Slow song keeps following me
Down another lonely street
Not far to get
Thoughts of home
My weary knees,
Shining star and not very far
Sing me songs I wont forget
And carry me another beat
I’m shuffling on.

Inevitable Spring (day 2099)

My inevitable spring
Slopes Eastward from here
Awakened by long train stops
Eclipsing my moon
Which cannot bare to withhold
Another day without you
But without silent winter
I cannot let go of autumn
So carefully pruned
As knitters of cocoons
Lay under aurora borealis
To watch Icarus
Climb as a nighthawk
Like my midnight winter moon
Alone again
Lost in a scape of twinkling
And gravitas bound.

Napkins (day 1622)

Ladders have begun
To disseminate my mental state,
Unpacked and re-packed
Long term storage boxes,
Dusty cardboard napkins.

Zigzagged metropolitan markets
With wicker baskets lined
With checkerboard napkins
And leftover spices
Under soiled paper napkins.

This night train is lonely
When the lights flicker just so,
I spend spare moments of memory
Re-reading the same four lines
Written on a folded square napkin.

Eight Legged Creatures (day 1442)

I cannot shake cobwebs of memories woven
Like the nest of an eight legged creature
Singing along to its tiny violin.
For whether I am last or first becomes
A brown bottle of almost never cared,
Sitting lifelessly on a stained cedar windowsill
Collecting dust and losing its eyes to tears,
Losing its words to years.

Somehow daughters never returned,
Sisters forgot the street number
Even though the sign sat twisted like a unicorn
Whose mane flowed so thickly in powerful gusts of wind
A rooster turned right around watching.

One cobweb strand reminds me of twin fawns
Who would wander by searching for blackberries,
Rich and prime and staining my fingers
Like thick lines trailing after a slug
Crossing a cement pathway.

I’ve grown used to the cobwebs,
Adjusted to being wrapped so delicately
Subtle changes in atmosphere
Cause reverberating sensations to flicker around
Along a one way street on the holy train.
It’s reached a point where I no longer feel
The sweet perspiration of an ice cold Coke bottle;
Instead, the roar of a monotonous dial-tone
Eager to tell me it’s all right,
And I’ve been here before.

Thorn (day 1261)

I once laid my eyes upon
An autumn so yellow and red,
That spoke to me of Monarchy;
The golden days of ol’.
Here I tarried a while
Pondering on the past,
Only to find, as I divined,
I had been transformed into a lord
Who had about, in glorious splendor,
A thousand man devoted train.
But to my alarm,
And quite disarming,
I hadn’t a desire to call mine own.
So my yawn was feigned,
My brow was fanned,
And of my rose was left a thorn.

Verbs and Dreams (day 1008)

Don’t confuse my verbs with my dreams
It’s a dangerous and wild scape to walk upon
With high hopes, hard work, long nights,
And milestones cajoled by the lot.
Refrain from imprinting your impression
With adjectives and monosyllabic rhetoric.
Stick to the purest of truths,
– The thick in this stock,
The essence of this admission –
And rumble on, like a night train.

Slow Low Whistle (day 989)

Mimic my every cry
As I let you whistle low
I’m ready for the hunger
I’m ready for the feast

Left alone at the crossroad
Pack all filled with air
A dollar too much down
Dusty register’s golden crown

Felt hard in my left
Checked the other one again
Heard my freight-train-a-coming
Lookin the other way now

Long road comin hard
Off to another day
Felt the executioners tail
Felt the grip to mother-me

Ramblin rose staring at me
My eyes gone, going back understood
Creeking sleep covering me
Lurching stops frightening me

My bag and me settling in
Easy train rumbling on
Lost my voice miles ago
Keeping my whistle down low