Boiling Ocean

When I think of you
I set a course
North by North East.
The sweep of your avi appears,
the ping of expectations
fly like corsaired glaciers
too eager to dissolve
in the Equator of such luxury.

the petals of your lips
burst on sonar
then close
then burst
in a distant monotone garden
cooled by a rain of loneliness.
They say come to me
for my heat tossles the floral baskets.
Clutch the ballustrade.
Ascend the stairs.
Make your home in my Atlantis.

Yet I cannot.
For to pluck a flower is to kill it.
My hand reaches
withdraws
reaches
leaves an acid trail in the semi-dark
a legacy of ashes lost to sun.
It is everything that I’ve become.
Sighing, I turn to duty,
adze my mind to lists, goals. Suchlike.
We are all denied love in the supermax of obligation.

I light a Winston.
Get my fill of bummer from the Smiths.
I say a prayer
for the sake of you
that this global warming is not real.
We are best left as we are
adrift as frozen photos
swirling on a rising whitecap
or jetting in the current of the Bering Sea.

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7 thoughts on “Boiling Ocean

  1. cyberbonn says:

    nice 🙂
    ‘cept stop smoking 😉

  2. beezknez says:

    wow this is just dreamy beautiful I love every sentiment here and every bit of tart n trail of horror also of this life you have grown here in this space of nothingness a garden of philosophy grows 🙂

  3. waterjug says:

    One of your ‘atypical’ noncryptic poems.LOVE IT! (not that I don’t like your other poems – I understand some of them, so those I understand I <3)

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