Old Poems

Old poems. mildly depressing, but grasping at content.
<3


Echo's ghost

The question was a rattle, the echo of a rattle that never dropped a
beat that seemed to pull the walls together in conjunction with a
falling gut. Propped up on my elbows I could never answer, I need the
support of my knees, but those caps are gone now treading seawater
bleached by the sun. They dropped out from under me in a foreign land,
and went their own way.
     So I didn't answer, just dropped the elbows to shove the arm to nudge
the frozen weathered hands, to sift through clean white sheets.
Probing for the secret, probing to see how they managed to pull the
sun through the shades. It was 12:23 when the echo rattled, I could
always tell on sunny mornings the glass covering the picture on the
far wall would be obscured by unbearable light. So I let it rattle on
and dropped my head beneath the sheets to search for my knees.
     In the underneath I was sure that the room was empty, but the hair on
my shins still stood on end waiting. They, not as sure as I that the
echo was an echo, they not aware of the mouth-less space that lived on
the other side of the sheet. "No mouth, no speech" I cooed as I tried
to lay them flat with the backside of my fingers.
     Crawling deeper into my refuge, I felt Icy feet on my back, and those
hairs stood on end again as the echo got into bed with me and I curled
up at her feet like a dog, and begged her to stop asking.




Frigid digits.

I've lost all that Icy blood
That my grandfather gave me,
Poured it on the moss
When I saw that sea
Stretching like a mouse feed cat
Breathing temperate through the leaves.

And now my toes go cold
With everybody else's

Drop two winters and pick up
The chills.




Lactic Ruffles

She will swim
The chocolate milk sea

Drool and whisper
Pooling languidly
Like raw blood.


Tactical daydreams

If I were an old man in a bottle,
I would skip across the waves,
Kissing every sea turtle and blowfish that struck my fancy.
I would cower low and stand high,
Catching guppies in the sunshine
And when finally confronted about my violent past
I would shake the world of my bottle and calmly bark an evil sea song.

Nothing would stop me not the moon or the sun,
Even comets or missiles fragmenting my body,
But more importantly my mind,

But…

If I were a young man in a bottle,
I would float on stagnant waters,
Kissing myself and the slime and the muck.
I would cower high and stand low,
Eating ancient catfish in the moon glow
And when finally confronted about my doldrums future
I would rock the world of my bottle and furiously sing a lovely swamp song.

Everything would stop me, the breeze and the star shine,
Even drifting thoughts and day dreams fragmenting my mind,
But more importantly my body.

But I am not bottled,
and have no bright future,
no stunning memory
no worthy exploit.
Just starlight and hope.
Tactical daydreams, to keep me from seeing with right eyesight.