I knew a name that blew
Wind so cruel it knew
An answer every night
Sleepless I lay out of sight
Enchanters sang
Each silhouette climbed
So dust stung my eyes
Glistening not a surprise
Drifting words
A lone wolf and my song
And I, dusty evermore.
My notes have all gone to yellow
Ageless they ring mellow
A bangle precedes each thy name
Faint hope but nothing remains
A fool’s enchanted again
And the walls are alive.
I’m growing tired of seeing your reflection
The gates are locked
And my side
Looks like it’s full of open pastures
And wild forest jungles.
There was a time that I knew nothing,
Blinded by skulls and candy
That barked at growing starlight
Strangling each reason
With desperate acts of non-violence
Non-conformance,
Non-sense that rooted blasphemy
In a solid stone foundation,
Un-able, un-desired, un-restricted
By a garden of eden dream space
Too conditioned and nostalgic
To grow wings of a new spring
And follow what has been set in your path.
My clock’s big bold numbers have flipped
Into a new season
A colder season of inner reflection
Observation, closeness with tranquil harbours
That cannot be exhausted in one evening,
One spell cast fool-heartedly,
One lonesome wolf that shall not howl tonight
Though this moon she grows
Swollen and sombre,
And embers within this hearth
Yet to forget this fire that burns within them.
Should ever
Thy heart take after wolf
Let thee rusting
Deconstruct me.
You’ve heard me calling upon your heart
My intentions are the spring:
Freshness of blossom, budding truth,
And warmth of the sweet sun.
I do not mean to make you shy,
My intrigue honest felt;
Throwing hazard to the wind
You hear my heart, my cry.
Like all painters of the world
I’ve swept my stroke upon your canvas,
Chance has left me restlessly
Dreaming of a midnight dance.
Your heart is grace to my wide eyes
I’ve felt it pushing, then giving slack,
I hear your wolf howl at my moon,
Hear mine, here, howling back.
You heard me calling out your name –
Upon my tongue it would forever last –
Though you took flight into the night,
At a half past forever gone.
I listened then into light wind
For the call I had learned as my own,
And here at last, my breaking point,
A white wolf on the run.
I dare not breathe for fear of alarm,
A fear my existence would cause caution,
Clear for me was how set free
Thy heart as latched bygone.
Your paws I tracked into deep forest,
My soft pads doubled your quick steps,
Leading me as if by force
Into your nature’s home.
It was here I finally sat atop
A rocky outcrop, a simple bluff,
Where every night I’d hear your call
Leaving me forever, never alone.
My undocked pride scraped noisily
Along an upturned desk;
Persophony had come down low
To loiter around a summer pool.
A loud memory cried wolf
As the phone chimed a familiar tune;
Prometheus at last
Wrangled to the bone.
Deadly as a fool to begin,
My yearning wasn’t a sin;
Lashed out with sharp teeth
– Crying, Demeter’s subtlest revenge.
Sometimes dreams don’t leave room for imagination;
Waking with a fright and deep recollection.
Hollering into night cools my lone wolf.
I’m a man of slip-slopping recollection,
I dine with strangers who share my wine.
We beg for answers when we’ve shown no mercy.
We all do.
It’s the cruelest of tortures that bless us rancid
Until our feverish states blow our sails full.
Darker seas then any wind-swept sailor would care to see.
Rupturing up my torn soul
I do continue to howl in my brief waking hours
For my window has closed and my feet become sore
And my alley of sinister has just become cold,
To await my march as darkness in greeting.
At night we would all have our tents and sleeping places set and sit around a small campfire. Making too much smoke and light would mean alerting the people we didn’t want to alert. A smart choice.
The coyotes would howl every night. Coyotes and wolves. I hoped they were coyotes at any rate. They never came close though, they were always off in the woods in the distance corralling some innocent prey.
It’s funny thinking about the way nature works without human intervention – naturally this is part of the reason why I chose to head west. In New York ground was ruined most likely forever (or at least scarred) from human’s intervention. There is always a scramble, an urgent scramble to the top, for the most, to accumulate all the wealth, riches, property, land, gold, clothing, food… It’s different understanding the true necessities of life.
The coyotes don’t live with luxuries like leather boots or cutlery or fat bank accounts and they get along just fine. Us humans though, we feel it our duty to posses planet earth and declare it a free for all.
The waste, the abuse, to be entirely honest is there even much beauty to go along with it? I find it hard to believe such transformation of the land is healthy for mother earth.
One thing I enjoy on the trial is the amount of time I have to sit in the saddle and watch the wilderness float on by.
[note: to read the full epic track my land]
It wasn’t long before I could see the dust kicked up in the distance from the pack I had been following. I knew they were hurt and could see it in their movement. They moved quick but I was moving quicker.
My long barrel could have taken them all there and then, and really it should have. I hadn’t time to be wastin’ away from the stead as I was.
I thought of simple things as I headed uphill; my fire stoked oven, hard chair, dust particles changing the hue of the room to match my lonely heart.
From here I knew a trail that tracked the edge of the ridge along the length of the valley. Before we were half way across I would be upon them with a vantage point to pick every single one of them off before they knew where I was. I was a fast shot, even with my long barrel.
I wondered how Tim and Casey Johnson were getting along, just East of my trail, just over the ridge. My trail ran North-South. I had come from the North and was heading South following this rogue pack of wolves that had taken two of my lambs. I was born a tracker, and these were my lands. The wolf was my birth sign, but my lambs were my right.
[note: to read the full epic track my land]
Don’t betray your love letters,
Long scrawls of ball pointed confessions.
Amnesty holds my widowed fingers:
A hearts feverish clutches
Tied loosely to my bangled neck piece.
This is my lover’s heartbeat,
This reverberation about the floorboards
Awakening the lone-hawks
Circling high above
In sensible entrapment.
I am insensible like a lone wolf
Howling at moonlit stargazers.
My memories don’t betray my written love letters,
[Eyes praying on weakened soul]
It’s always my intention to be true.