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-- Mar 2018
We search seas for rough
cleansing, but
some times, some new
some old,
we search for her to lap away
the warmth in our sun-born flesh,
to ease away the white-hot-heat and frenzy,
till her cold wet fatigue may kiss us full
of calm, of passivity, of loftiness, of sea-foam docility
and to chill our temperment some.
Sip her blessings, child,
but I warn you, her cup overfloweth
and in your wanting,
your pining doubt,
an open mouth spells a ominous quiet,
and a hushed sigh of grief--
for the sea mourns your passing--
or rather, the passing of the warmth
she grasped too quickly at
when your heavy head dipped too low
too weakly, and bright eyes closed cold
and meekly.
-- Mar 2018
I came to the sea,
where she lapped
and fled so easily,
but in my wanting
I saw her not.
…But the clouds came.
They came, they went—
and shyness was the shore
where I rested my heavy
soggy head, to offer up dreams
to the dying warm gold of grain,
in defiance to the cold n' coming rain.
seas are alaways a comfort.
-- Mar 2018
We Titans, with fated breath, our cheer bursting in claps,
in thunder.
And we, whose loud romps, shook the world.
Soda-pop sticky, barefoot, n' green laughs rickety,
We spurred on with cold weighing our fingertips.
We saw the paling pink joys of seashells
leaping, lunging, skidding in surging shallow waves.

We Titans, naked few, have shared this all,
held it in our young palms firmly.
And against the retreating cool of night, we stood.
Laughing as it hurried across the winds,
stirring the sleepy beach town behind,
as both our eyes greedily swallowed the gold,
the light, that chased the milky-blue horizon away.

We Titans, shivering under waves and waving long arms,
like the branches that cradled us when the sun
spilt himself down and baked our cheeks red.
Wore nothing, but the lightening we huffed
and slung around our waists. Our triumph of
bursting might cracked open our little chests and mingled
secrets and giggles, purging the boredom until
only the return of night set us fearful and plain.

We Titans, were the jokers, the rulers,
the paupers and the villains. Gilded trust we wielded
and yielded upon one another. Our bond like a flame
in the dark of our eyes that hid what we feared.
And tender did it flick, twirling across the faces of
monster and friend, as we sipped the dying daylight as youths.

We Titans, though age may pull us far from tumbling seashells,
may rage and call one another from dubious memory.
But our friendship still dances here,
as a destiny set in the soft pale pink trembles of my dreams.
To know friendship as a Titan is to know life through the eyes of a beloved, through the eyes of a kindred soul... and to romp with playful evil delight.
-- Jan 2018
Hollowed murmurs crawl
From shaken wells you've sprouted
From; ventured farther than most
who've pined for gold noons.

They call, reverent,
To the passion-oranges n'
decaying yellows,
to wrap you from winters foul grip.
But fail. And lay frozen in powdery
sweet dusk.
Summer glows but it's pallor stumbles into a glinting Autumn but then slips into a dead Winter. See Springs harkens to Summer's Ghosts and his rebirth.
-- Dec 2017
Oh, memory strike
down my waning pride,
and like the visceral
oceans in the sky,
fall each dawn as dew,
and surge each paling dusk,
pour like torrents
of monsoons \ hurricanes.
Serve only as a reminder
of the wars I've lost, and
the battles I've just begun.
Memory knows me better than I do.
-- Dec 2017
Plain n' simple true,
Dread is wholesome and
Speaks in quakes, here. For the
Monster fear looms ever near.

Slow it creeps, wagging tongue
Dripping lies like maggots
Spill from the bloated dead.
Vigor and lust are well eaten
And moths and dust are all
That remain of 'love-making'.

But tracing at first, golden
At the very last glimpse.
Wet eyes, hushed gripes at
nothing: Behold, I'll march.

I'll march well-receded upon
The dusk. I'll march well-seeded
Upon the morn'. I'll march well-sympathised
Upon the wine-smooth caresses of dawn.

For a ghost longing for death, I am
What is plain. What is simple. What is
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