Vagabond

Further

Folder: 
Studio Recordings

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Sahara Noir

 

  I have stood Barefoot in the sun 

Wading through the blushing shallows

In the  Oasis of the Ahaggar Mountains.

My chest is hard and brown.

I have collected the tears Of the Boswellia Sacra 

as they mourn the early Dawn Sun.

I have intoxicated my self,

Consuming the hot molten rum of Dates And Myrrh.

And carelessly wandered off 

In the Perils of the blistering sun.

At nighttime, 

When the moon casts its heavy cool glow

The Ancient Temples burn away the tears

A hot languid incense steams

From the burning sands 

showing you the way. 


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Wayfarer

 

  Once a smoothed faced man

I , the one who may beacon with tendrils upon tendrils 

of Vast artificial contentment 

May become a wanton wanderlust searching upon searching 

The path has become part of us.

Ponderlust.

A wondrous derangement.

An engagement of planes upon trains from Strasbourg to Thames.

A suave Lothario flagrantly wears his gangrenous fougere.

A disheveled man, Long beard. Shoes worn affray.

High society Woman in gaudy bedazzle.

What do your shoes say?

Did you have a cinematic life?

Black and white?

Will you wind back the reels 

Of your 8mm 

Frame by frame 

Only to find you have been Alone, in a dark room

Nothing more than a spectator

Reduced to a Pair of staring eyes?


Author's Notes/Comments: 

From the road. Inspired by strange things in a strange world.