the garden

golden gates
cut throat pools, precise
always hazy
reverie and drums
switchblade grass
clear waters, mirrors
sleeve drifts
the sunrise, reflections
losing focus
pouring more wine
sweet rhythms
trees, cherub fountains
soft sight
wondering, dreaming
hoping

I Am Sea

I know I will one day dry out
but for now I need to be wet,
in the bathroom dunking myself
proving I’m not a witch.

A nautical sense is within me,
calmness found in sea breeze,
solace in gentle ripples,
a boat trip is Ritalin to me.

My enthusiasm is a tidal wave,
I drown people in rushing words,
towering waves of specific vagueness,
sweeping them out on my tide.

It’s a conflict within me,
I can be by it or on the cusp,
but being in water I can’t see
the bottom of terrifies me.

Underwater forests flourish
under old wooden platforms,
the sweet smell of saltwater,
comfort found in the sea.

Meadow of Hiatus

Laminated within the oceans human echo,
as newborn stars explode on car bonnets
and vast microlandscapes pass under foot.
Salt collects and drips slowly from the brush,
the atmosphere thickens bearing down hard,
there’s a stagnancy within this beauty.
Everything in sight is languidly dancing,
seeds and insects pirouette in slow motion
in the golden hue of childhood nostalgia.
Lonely lost souls drifts on the breeze,
coasting through the busiest of streets,
searching for a welcoming ear to listen.
A blue haze spirals up and around the air,
as the resplendent sun trips the light fantastic,
making this pungent downfall look ethereal.
The army of vexation flounders on the grass,
as we lay in this field surrounded by deities,
nothing can trouble us in the meadow of hiatus.