so you're disappointed
that you're disappointed
and maybe that's to be expected
some folks make beds
out of their catharsis
differently than others
it's this list
of things you lost in the fire
or how jealous you are
of people
who never came back up for air
you're crying
so the faucets leak out of solidarity
& someone asks you
why the floor is wet
so you tell them
"we've been weeping here forever"
then they want to give you
a mouth full of presupposition
by saying
"are you going down with the ship?"
& you look them in the mouth
like Leo is handcuffed to a pipe
five decks down
you look at them
like you just woke up
from that dream everyone has
where all their teeth fall out
maybe it's an intervention
a hearse vs station wagon origin story
a clearance sale
& everything's gotta go
or maybe it's the dream
where you're at the docks
from your childhood
and there's a little girl
unmooring all the ships
because she thinks
they'll float away
but every time
she unties them
they just sink




                                          they just sink

i am so small,
devoured by
my depression

if i were a flower,
i'd be shrivelled,
on the brink
of being nothing
but soil and dirt

and one day,
i met a boy
who promised
to water me

i promised him
that if he did,
i would grow
and he watered me
day after day,
showered me
abundantly

everyday,
i'd tell him
that i am better,
i have grown 
taller

but he'd grab
my wrist,
measure me
with the ruler
i've created
on my arm

and see that
i've remained
small and 
have gotten
even smaller

he cried and
showered me
with the love in
his salt tears

he cried to me
telling me that
he feared the day
that i would shrink
into nothing,
into death

he watered me
more than before
and his water
was too much

i was flooded,
drowning in
the water
that was supposed
to give me life

People who live by the sea
understand eternity.
They copy the curves of the waves,
their hearts beat with the tides,
& the saltiness of their blood
corresponds with the sea.

They know that the house of flesh
is only a sandcastle
built on the shore,
that skin breaks
under the waves
like sand under the soles
of the first walker on the beach
when the tide recedes.

Each of us walks there once,
watching the bubbles
rise up through the sand
like ascending souls,
tracing the line of the foam,
drawing our index fingers
along the horizon
pointing home.