pale porch light
illuminates the small
old wicker chair
on the verge of breaking
it already leaves paint chips everywhere
but you can't bring yourself to throw it out
you sit with a smoke in your mouth
and your glass jar
and the moon shines
strong enough to light up the whole town
and you don't mind
because this is what you are used to
the old wicker chair
the bright cigarette
that your girlfriend gets mad at you for
but still kisses you with a cough
the foggy mason jar
that is filled with practically indigestible alcohol
but that's your life
it's simple on the outside
a sweet contrast
it stops your ever spinning head
for just 5 seconds
and you look down
your unlucky skin in the pale porch light

he watches as his life set ablaze
with morphine and fireworks
29 candles and a red tent
that was an accident

he spoke with bated breath but now
with vigor and bravery
freedom and fear
and it's not your fault

he walked as his legs protested
with medicine and cigarettes
a camcorder and a cane
they maybe one of the lucky ones

he swam with a set intention
saltwater burning
putting up a fight
he's never felt so alive
for once he'll finish something
it was a happy one

and there's no tragedy in that

i was a floater by definition
a name plastered on my chest since grade 2
i would just float around.

our names were classified by how we lived
i had nothing to hold me down
my body would move from place to place
bumping into things
not staying for too long

i was happy i guess
i wasn't lost
i knew the exact pinpoint in the ocean
the singular sand particle on the beach

but there was a big wooden ship behind me
with the Captain singing a sweet sea song
and the Sailors' voices lilted
carrying bottles of blue sea glass
pretending they were telescopes

so, I took my little body,
wrinkled from the Sea,
and my waterlogged fingers gripped the boat tight
the Captain's song found its way into my lungs
and I could see the encroaching shore,
but I wan't worried
because I am still riding that ship.

sometimes, Sailors go their separate ways
find new land, find new ships
sometimes, pruney, little hands grab a hold of the hull
and We pull them on.

one day, I will leave this ship,
but it won't be forever
because I am anchored.

one day, I will cease to shake
and in my grave, I will rumble.

one day, I will be a widow
and far past my age, a man name of Jones.

one day, I will haunt you
and your wheels, inside your head.

one day, I will be important
and will stop slamming, I will breathe.

one day, I will cease to rumble
and you'll say,
"my God, I've had a good life."

one day, I will cease to be a widow
"my God, where have you been."

one day, I will cease to haunt you
"my God, I cannot sleep."

one day, I will cease to be important
"my God, I remember you."