Cue the night:

I’m buried in seaside dust, raw from overreaction;

Building futile ashen castles,

Ironically unwashed by vaguely dreamt metaphors?

{And I should know} If I opened my mouth, I’d only sneeze in more than would be wise;

Those strange laws of expulsion-impulsion.

So I will stay, holding my breath though I never reached the sea,

Contemplating lasciviousness in bewildered detachment;

Like a cow in a charnel shed, face shoved in dead could-have-beens.

Tourist guide:

Not quite sure why I was there. Just let the dust be dust again.

When Marriage Ends

My fragile

You are the frailest flower in the yard

Drinking pills with a plastic glass of stale water.

You are draped like the frosted twinkles of Christmas that dot the street outside our dark and quiet home Continue reading

To Drown

There is a joy in skimming waves. When home is deep and broad azure. For we have carved our welcome here. And we are kings upon the main.

This deck’s more firm than any land; the stars, like faith, they guide me on. The wind uplifts and scours clean. Our sails snap just so, just so.

(And holding fast before it all, this home contains a truth ingrained:) Continue reading