blue carts dancing
freely
as memories
of ocean and sand
and twigs
and a tent
waltz around my
ballroom mind

these shackles
has been
holding
my
prog
ress
and vision
turns
grey
with
every
mo
tion.

the cold draft rises from the east
up there, we are kissed by the wind
in the middle of words, we were lost

on the last key of my piano
i drank the last drop of ink
a medley of danse macabre
is all i hear
i moved further
farther
away from the shore
where the piano kept playing
the boat i rode
toward your heart and hand
and i was in confusion
i was lost.