Posts Tagged ‘water’

Her voice dots the peripheries
of my memory.
A tide of incoming jetsam
abandoned so the ship could

Each delicate piece of Mahogany
furniture that washes up
leaves the salt water tailings
of excavated tears – a brine kiss
on the cheek of my mind.

A chair, an ottoman, a wardrobe
filled with falun red silk with off-white
trim – a dressed down exotic
not unlike the Prussian blue coastline
that forgives into a beach lined

When accepting your apology
I was too weak to tell you
things would never be the same.
You are silent next to my sleeping body
and using our Scheele sheets
as a tent while you read.

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Derelict’s Canto

Outside there is no hiding place
That sun is hot. Too hot to look up.
We meet on the banks where the river breaks
Water is not. Come, fill your cup.

His work protects the ground from sun
A colony of ants enjoys the shade
Our feet in time when they don’t run
It been this way since we all got made.

First we painted on our skin
Not cave. Not canvass. No walls.
We put out what kept us in.
No sins. No memories. No falls.

Then we turned the other’s back
The Sun is hot. Too hot to look up.
In it we carved the things we lack.
Blood is not. Come, fill your cup.

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I spent time pressed against the aquarium
envying the darting parrot wrasse.
She left. Hands too full to carry them.
Emergency underwater. Break the glass.
Kept in case of rain she gave us a kingdom
which she had never meant to last.

The wooden chair, a symbol of it all
upside down and in the madman’s hand
was set to smash until it could understand
every inch of the problem, the seawall.
Unaware of the coming storm we stalled,
Heavy with action and poised to crash land.
Then it was clear. I took the damn chair and
I left. My hands too full to break my fall.

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She ran.
Pathways weaving like a seamstress needle
below and above fabric.
Under the lights of the gently bending street lamps
vision became unbearable
just long enough to be plunged back into darkness.
Alone with her thoughts
and her headphones.

Music in these times
is useless.
It makes her long for
skipping records again.
Like the scratchy heart beat
in her chest.
The way the arm claws at
a dark worn groove
only to hop back again.

If he could see her now.
Keeping beat
with a loose necklace
bouncing against her chest.
How he would laugh
as she ran
nothing but a silhouette
pressed against
the river banks.
The moonlight
catching on its
cold ink surface.
He always laughed at tragedy
and when she would cry.

She ran
until she saw the bench.
Her old dirty friend.
Falling like a fig into his arms.
Not to cry, but to laugh
and to skip stones
against the worn black
grooves of the river.

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I came to the lake
It’s lushness almost
mocking. It’s crystalline
skin a smack in the face
because I came alone.

A journey alone.

This lake isn’t like me,
it can’t be beautiful alone.
It needs us too much.
I wash my face
and sip the water
so divorced from the lake’s body
it might as well be a lone soldier
circling my lips
to find rest on my tongue.

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I mistook earlier
what I said.
Signs and symbols
often move
like fish on a hook.
Thoughts as heavy
as lead
in the loving hands
of gravity.

Yesterday’s newspaper
wraps tonight’s
dinner. If
you get here
early enough
you get a big one.
Early men get
the worm
big enough for two
or three.

In the sea
everything is led
by invisible
by the schools
of wet souls
passing through
reefs and caves
what invisible hands
pull the shadows
and the light
that defines them.

A solitary figure
made a shadow
by the falling sun
hangs its feet
off the dock.
It kicks its legs
up and down
never once
returning them
to the same ocean.
What lies beneath
it will never know,
but infinity lies
ahead, and is setting.

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In the pit, a bathtub,
all is lines
filled with grout.
she naked. she so naked
and cold.
Water clings to curtains
the condensation
of mercy on herself.
A red spiral fights
gravity – fights the drain.
she wants clothes
but shakes too much
to button them.
she weak. she chosen to be weak
by some force
to be weak
to curl against cold porcelain
and wish the humans
around her were
elephants or some noble beast.

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It is too dark to see.
Headlights illumine only road.
No stars. No sky above.
4 tires bear the load
of a junk car in the darkness.
It’s so dark that tree and horizon
all blend into the hole
above it all.
Yet I can still feel the water.

Somewhere to the right, to the left,
there is water.
I can barely float
I could never swim,
Yet I know it so well.
I know its there.

As a child my mom would bounce me
up and down
left and right
from knee to knee.
as I bobbed up and down
watching the horizon
jump around.

Above me
the incomprehensible
whole that I arrived from –
two deep eyes
two fragile hands
brushing thin strands
of midnight black hair
away from a face
of radiant light.

Yet somewhere inside her
I know there is water
unseen, invisible,
but there. Undoubtedly.
Amidst the light that makes
sight impossible
there is flowing water;
a flood dammed.

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