Undead Oceans

Found the words for the time

of turbulence and twisters

and emotions that were not my own,

but somehow found their way

into my pockets and baggage.

These memories that were not

my own, but we're shared to me,

found a shelve in my treasury.

A dusty, yet golden, twenty-two year-old

closet where more skeletons lay

than there is room.

Step there, crack goes the bone.

Step here, crink goes the tooth.

I return to sweep and gather these old,

stones that I picked up in my youth.

(There is a box somewhere for them.)

...but that box is full...

... of other rocks from other youth

and letters filled with the perfect words

all on the outside

like flies aloof by the window

waiting to enter like tides

crying in a subway.

(emotional stasis on the move)

passing by places and faces

all counting the tears

Some days I am a flower,

On others I am a fly.

Some days I am a feather in Fall wind,

On others I am an aged cement block.

Some days I am fair fairy,

On others I am the monster under your bed.

Some days I sing and waltz,

On others I drink and rot.

Some days I dream,

On others I scream, with no voice out.

Some days I groom and out-do my look,

On others I am a broom with much work to do.

Some days my skin is a steamed pearl,

On others I am a pile of ashe in a chimney.

Some days I flaunt my fairest boots in Fall,

On others I am the lost boot by the seaside.

Some days I sass my way through sarcasm,

On others I cling and cry to your sarcasm.

Some days I want the biggest bear hugs,

On others I need the gentlest hug.

Some days I want silence with my coffee,

On others I need a friend with my latte.

Some days I simply smile at strangers.

On others I look down knowing I am strange.

Some days I write poetry.

You were a blue-flamed candle.

Delicate from excess water;

a simple blow away

from your man-infested

collapsing wax

a green so pure

the grey asphalt became

beautiful.

my element was found

in the seat of the B-line,

the uphill trail of a long way,

peace,

was standing

at a Downtown

corner;

cascading rain,

life going left

and right

with city sirens

Do you hear him?

Like explosions and tornados

all nearing to the beat of a strut.

(Your strut)

The End is like a close friend

we all know and love

but don't want to meet yet.

He continues to insist, despite

our denial

unveiling the invitation

Becoming birds

and ascending alto,

like lingering lanterns.

Over ominous oceans

heavy-handed and hovering.

Steel structure,

and lattice labor.

Flying fairly far;

wandering where winter

you were a good idea

based on rotten beliefs

based on "good" intentions

corner concrete park

if only you kissed them like bottles' lips.

if only you held them like a lighter.

if only you noticed the empty fridge.

if only you heard the soft, song-like whimper.

if only you felt bad for them.

if only they felt bad for you.

if only there were no more lines to cross,

then they would not try hard to forget you.

if only they held you.

if only they remembered you

if only they didn't raise their hand at you,

raised their voice at you

while they misheard your soft,

song-like whimper.

if only they noticed your empty tummy,

then you wouldn't crave the misfortune

my favorite song.

favorite shirt and shorts.

the perfect jacket.

a nice walk,