horselover-fat - Hello Poetry

I have reoccurring drowning dreams which turn oxygen into smithereens Wherever I seem to be I cannot breathe What to everyone else is leisurely lust Is to me a desert of dust The tide only hides, I can't see the sea I try to stay afloat but the glass is always empty Sailing is a Hopper painting I can only hear when it's raining People tell me the could only wish Of seeing glimmering flying fish But what seems to them nature's secret kiss Is not. It's a terrifying black ceaseless abyss

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Aug 20, 2016

Aug 20, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC

horselover-fat

Sonnet to the sea by someone who can't see water

I have reoccurring drowning dreams which turn oxygen into smithereens Wherever I seem to be I cannot breathe What to everyone else is leisurely lust Is to me a desert of dust The tide only hides, I can't see the sea I try to stay afloat but the glass is always empty Sailing is a Hopper painting I can only hear when it's raining People tell me the could only wish Of seeing glimmering flying fish But what seems to them nature's secret kiss Is not. It's a terrifying black ceaseless abyss

15

Rain droplets Phone booth, Until the outer walls were crying Wetness is A pretty Vulnerability But it's not All bad Because Humidity is ****** Existentialism Clouds are Reincarnated Saints that Weep at the Bitter realism Of duality (We are in a Warm, wet womb Until we are in a Cold dry tomb And as we grow, We are drank by Time) When the sky Is white and pure As angles we are washed With sea water and Odours expelled from Our noses Bathrooms are Lonely places Where you Can be God And the White blankness The sky And the Bathwater The rain And your Fingertips Humanity

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Jul 2, 2016

Jul 2, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC

horselover-fat

Reign

Rain droplets Phone booth, Until the outer walls were crying Wetness is A pretty Vulnerability But it's not All bad Because Humidity is ****** Existentialism Clouds are Reincarnated Saints that Weep at the Bitter realism Of duality (We are in a Warm, wet womb Until we are in a Cold dry tomb And as we grow, We are drank by Time) When the sky Is white and pure As angles we are washed With sea water and Odours expelled from Our noses Bathrooms are Lonely places Where you Can be God And the White blankness The sky And the Bathwater The rain And your Fingertips Humanity

47

The west is a lonely ritual... Seeded in florescence, Quiet but self-aware indifference. Barely breathing, Fireworks, gunshots, lightening, Unrequiting. Where dawn is bright and out of place, and beneath it cardboard cutout estates. Where eyes are fraught with glaring rejection, And where we only cross paths at highway intersections. And headlights echo deep wandering beams, And shine palely into our uncrowded dreams. Human warmth is replaced by electric heating And people become cold, cold, cold and fleeting.

0

Jul 2, 2016

Jul 2, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC

horselover-fat

Cities and suburbs

The west is a lonely ritual... Seeded in florescence, Quiet but self-aware indifference. Barely breathing, Fireworks, gunshots, lightening, Unrequiting. Where dawn is bright and out of place, and beneath it cardboard cutout estates. Where eyes are fraught with glaring rejection, And where we only cross paths at highway intersections. And headlights echo deep wandering beams, And shine palely into our uncrowded dreams. Human warmth is replaced by electric heating And people become cold, cold, cold and fleeting.

14