sailing for better shores, or abandoned islands,
folding paper boats, destined for the mainland.
sat on a bench an hour and a half, out on that bay,
watching seagulls scream,
walking through the dusty overgrowth in a daydream haze,
drawing tiny recipes for loneliness
out of the thin air.
for three days,
haven't seen fit to eat or drink;
all sustenance just unsettles
that terrible ache
in the pit of this assemblage of flesh,
as long days curl into the crescent of
such half-hearted lunar illumination
the sand always brings those thoughts back-
how the lights out east
strangled the knots
in that mousey forest of hair,
eyes, opaque in the shade of half of a hand,
watching the clock,
with nowhere to be.
she disappeared
like paper boats sailing out to sea.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
sailing for better shores, or abandoned islands,
folding paper boats, destined for the mainland.
sat on a bench an hour and a half, out on that bay,
watching seagulls scream,
walking through the dusty overgrowth in a daydream haze,
drawing tiny recipes for loneliness
out of the thin air.
for three days,
haven't seen fit to eat or drink;
all sustenance just unsettles
that terrible ache
in the pit of this assemblage of flesh,
as long days curl into the crescent of
such half-hearted lunar illumination
the sand always brings those thoughts back-
how the lights out east
strangled the knots
in that mousey forest of hair,
eyes, opaque in the shade of half of a hand,
watching the clock,
with nowhere to be.
she disappeared
like paper boats sailing out to sea.
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