My Heart a Pocket Empty

My heart a pocket empty of metaphor

Well, almost, as I walk on this October beach

The battleship sky a stage

Where drama unfolds

Between ragged characters

Who fly

At the whim of the Writer

Tattered by their passage

Beaten black and blue

Inscrutably angry

Amorphously threatening

No layers of clothing

Nor meaning

Can resist the chill of this wind

Slicing through my soul

The horizon bereft

Of silhouette

Save the optical illusion of the points of waves

As if I could see that far

Jetsam washed up on a hostile shore

Sea trash

Ripped from the deck

Where I once made fast the lines

And painted everything in sight

Another mate swabs her deck

Holding the mop

That was once mine

That I did not know at the time

Was the most precious


Give me the rum of each endless day

While the smell of snow in the air

Manifests the white comforter

I me lay me down drunk

Where the beach ends

And the beach grass begins

Meeting the long night

Of my dreams

Of un-being


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