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Added 2017-08-16 12:40:04 +0000 UTC
What, of drowning
In a sea of overwhelm
What, of burning
The flesh of my knees
Red with rash
If I believe hard enough
Can I breathe this water?
I graze my toes
Against the sand
Touching the sharp edges
Of the hollowed homes
Of mollusks,
Chips on their shoulders,
But nothing left inside.
What, of vacancy
Of drifting, on my back
Of sifting, nonplussed
I emerge, gasping
Grasping
I am swept up
Once more.
Offered up, feverishly
In a tidal frenzy
Obedient to the moon
Who, in turn, obeys the sun
In a strange Stockholm worship.
These patterns
Fragments
Become me
Like the salt and the sand
Maritime mosaic.
One trip around the sun,
Used to be an undertaking
Of epic proportions
Now merely a fraction.
A function
Of minimal satisfaction
Like premature climax
I am swallowed up
And surrendered
At low tide
Lingering in
The breath of abandon
Left with the taste of death
Of haste and breadth
On my mouth.
I chase what's left
Back to the moon.
