Day 100 – Lifeblood

We were born in a world
that promised us love,
that preached us backyard summers,
that taught us the value of honest work

We were born in a world
that fed us cinema,
that baited us with dreams it spun,
that led us to the brink and let us go

Come to find,
love’s a scheme we can’t afford
Come to find,
our honest work is not enough
Come to find,
we don’t deserve the things
we selfishly assumed
that we had every right
to desire

And so we are a generation spoiled by
ideology that we did not approve;
now we are a congregation ruled by
technology that we did not invent

Yet we’re the ones who have to fix the system,
the honest work for which they trained us up-
and we don’t have
any lifeblood
to spare.

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Day 28 – Price

If the price for poetry
is the process continued
long into sleep
where it’s cruelly twisted
then
I will write about you
no more.

But if the price for sanity
is the opening of scars
as many times as necessary
into long nights
then
I will keep writing you
’til you’re gone.

Year 2: Day 134 – I Must Be Lost

Zebra daisies, snozberry wine,
dip into my dreams,
the purple water’s fine.
If you look for me and
you don’t find me there,
well I must be lost,
I must be waiting for you
to arrive.

Calico sunrise, juniper moon,
I’m always at¬†one end
of a glass balloon.
If you’re having trouble
tracking where I’ve gone,
well I must be lost,
I must be counting down
to you.

Saccharine cactus, wings of the sea,
my dreams are mine
but they are not me.
If you can’t find me in dreams
where I belong,
well I must be lost-
or you must not see where I
could be.

Year 2: Day 69 – No Time For Dreams

Vertical pillow on the left-hand side,
just enough space for a dream,

but who has time for dreams anymore,
anyway?

Man on the corner selling drugs needs gas;
can of mace, tin of brownies side by side.

Who has time to worry if it’s safe?

Kids in the office ’cause their parents broke up,
need advice from nobody like me.

Moms getting discount dignity for Christmas,
groceries downtown, expired apple juice.

And the fellas in designer glasses
lookin’ out for somebody chill,
oh man, oh man.

Everybody’s hurting all around, like a fire,
so who’s got a right to dream?

Who, if their eyes are open,
has time for dreams anymore,
anyway?

Day 300 – Birth Of Dreams

Let your dreams die, oh, let them go
and do not dig them up.
Empty your heart every day and never
attempt to fill it back up.

For if you draw breath in sequence,
moment to moment, you must believe
that you will find all the air you’ll need
rushing to fill your lungs.

You do not spur your blood on its course,
you do not lengthen your bones;
so do not scour the Earth to find
what passion would fuel your soul.

As night falls on the horizon
which cannot help but to swell with dark,
so, too, is life satisfied endlessly
with the unfailing birth of dreams.

It is when we try to stay the sun
that our frailty is felt, and more,
that as we watch our dreams expire
a thousand more are formed.