orgami's Diaryland Diary

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not neo

in a different landscape of the mind
lately.. a break from the alcohol
and although creative fires flare
the right brain ..its a cost to the
life and brain and health and soul rot..

maybe I cant write sober

there are images that settle
through the silences
colours of emotion that
reach the depths beyond mere
fingertips

We are closed away the door between
night and day
I visit only in the dreams
before dawn
before Lilly nudges me awake with
her nose for her walk under
the underpass with Max

not awake and not in dreams
the snow catching the periphery
interest of my thoughts
as they charge down the trail
pulling me along

ive always walked dogs alone
and none of them ever returned
with me but chose to run off
until the hour was up when
they remembered me probably

the leash is a purpose
that keeps us together
like an agreement of mistrusts
We will draw you along
because we dont believe you
will ever take us out again
I will not let you go because
your happy smiles you shall
take with you across the busy
street and through the woods
chasing the deer that rustle
in the dark parts of the old
road we walk

I think of the simple happiness
of being tethered
to mere principle of logic
then ideal of freedoms

the wind cuts through my jacket
and my exposed hand gripping
both their leads
the ring finger spinner painfully
held taut against the bone
wincing but it takes my mind
from some hallway Im walking
through..back to here the leaves
on the old mossy pavement
the limbs of the trees where the
headlights sweep through on the
upper roadbed...the climb to the
overpass
the trunks like a lodge holding up
the tangle of roof

just needs the torchs the burning
brands
the dogs huddled at the door resting

I have them now where they dont bark
dont give away our position so easily
I carry no light no smokes
no phone

we travel by touch beneath my feet
they by their smell
the trail we have come to know so
well

the melancholy walks with me like
an old friend
and I accept this now
finding within it a humility
that I substituted with such
cheap false bravado

Ive taken to stopping and rubbing
my mittens on their fur and they
turn to see me in the dark
their shapes their muzzles
but they go back to listening all
about holding their nose for
the stories
the tales
that they can remember
when we are in

when the gas furnace
rushs air
and the blankets soothe
my unease

1:15 a.m. - 2012-11-25

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