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Tracking Dirt

24 Sep

Tracking Dirt – SoF

I sewed seeds and their harvests reveal,

the need to retread,

the paths in my head.

Ruminate while tending to plots,

I forgot,

oh, I weed a lot.

Captivate me quietly,

and take me to that place,

where the past leads the way.

I can’t slow down I am jumping between,

a bay side town,

and a swamp and a frown.

Culminate can I stop the clock?

I’m backed up at the block,

a metaphorical clot.

You can fake me perfectly,

I’ll talk about today,

in my regular way.

Step outside to a luminous shock,

with my feet in the grass,

and my eyes at half mast.

It permeates and by the time I can see,

cool grey sky has arrived,

tornado inside the eye.

Jar this ghost reality,

and take me to the place,

where I lead the way.

Rain falls down and this drought is repealed,

and it’s flooding my fields,

spring forth a bountiful yield.

I cultivate and I am present again,

you’re a delicate wind,

and you’re taking my hand.

Image: Lotus Carroll

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New New Ceremony

8 Dec

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Harmonics – Gareth Dickson

Wrapped in the blanket we wove,

we’re waiting out the storm.

Sand sleet whips at windows worn.

The sands of time will eat our love.

The first tear in the fur of a bear

only after we’re bones and a pile of hair.

Thunder.

We witness the mixture of sediment.

And the ceremony is grand,

but love isn’t sand

and the process loses it’s target sentiment.

All we have is this wind.

We’re going to keep each other warm.

We cant protect from all these elements.

But we’ll leave this earth in finer form.

image:Mihai Balan

(and Her)

15 Apr

Sufjan Stevens – Borderline

A ride home as kind as morphine,

I saw floods slip over quiet eyes of friends.

The bridge softly buckles and

the rivets give like dough.

But the tires have all melted away anyways.

and Her lids are heavy and she’s

losing the fight these days.

.

I never saw the blinking lights,

I never heard the siren’s sounds,

Please, let me have the window seat.

.

A ride home being sung to sleep,

I saw lids slip over quiet eyes of mine.

Magdalene softly chuckles and

tidal waves rise and grow,

but my fires have all died away anyways.

And her lids are heavy and she’s

losing the fight these days.

image: tocityguy

We are what you want.

31 Jan

Marconi Union – Nothing Ever Happens In Tunguska

I hope I dream another dream tonight.

I hope this proves to be a better year.

I’m swallowing a stone that won’t go down.

Upon examination fades away.

Elusive time it always gets away

with homicide. I’m left to slip slow down

in dip down sheets and dream this bitter year

away in premature moonbeams tonight.

image: AndyCunningham

Best told low

22 Dec

Modern Drummer – American Analog Set

The best love stories are the ones I never heard.

An advertised love hangs upon the thinnest threads,

plinks high notes and treads.

They are the wailing melody to the bass in our heads.

A drone we hear from miles away.

The undercurrent on choppy days.

Cello strings cheats strung bow.

Won’t play notes staff page says.

image: Jerry Cooke

I am Them to You

22 Nov

Sufjan Stevens – Holland

Emerging from sleep it seems
I cannot reconcile with my lost dreams
I’ll be fine
I’ll be fine.

Walking parks and explains how he
plots loopholes in the religion he follows to the t
I don’t know why
He won’t say why

A tinge of olive all over, the world slipping from your grasp
I live in photos now, forever state of half wit faux gasp.
my girl

she keeps

me safe

in sleets

A breath of wind, a breath of life,
blew over my closed eyes,
in the end,
what will I defend?

image: angelrays

Relax the scalp and let your hair fall out on the carpet

25 Oct

Beck – Farewell Ride

In solitude, or in the
locked eyes of a desperate song they
take me there, I’m
biking a hot day and a lonesome
run down boathouse rough road home
jut sand bank tell of fortune old as time
clock rocking the knotted rocker: grave
She sees me who I am and I came: the
future. Only memory scenes and I
am the sucker side of some cheap con
for I am not upon a bicycle nor
deep into a summer afternoon.
I see old days and I swoon
I live them a memory at each core
and choke seeds of cyanide that come
with each one. Ah, well, someday we’ll all die.