There once was a man from Green Bay
Who made it a habit each day
     To ****** an udder
     And churn his own butter,
Then go for a nap in the hay.

We've sailed cerulean seas to pastel shores,
Known only to the glorious few,
We have disembarked, ready to explore,
As our lone ship waits slumbering in view
of the glorious bay. Light paints daybreak
across the sky. We see the rising sun
through imagined jungle—and hesitate:
The image lingers, but it must be done,
Eyes close. Toward the interior we turn
remembering, and hoping to return.

Sitting outside, i close my eyes to the sound of Tycho-Dive,
Middle of the night, stars wrapped around the night stormy sky,
Moon is finally asleep, and all is dark and quiet.
Deep breath, cool wind surpasses my warm skin on this cold summer stormy night.
Thinking deep thoughts about my life, these are the moments i feel free.
When no one is around, i can finally think calm to myself, and feel finally at ease.
Wish these calm moments can last forever.
They say night time is when our demons come out to play, but i feel so much comfort in this earthly darkness that my emotions escape me, they escape me because i can be me.
No one can stare at me
No one can talk to me
No one, just no one around to bother me
I want to feel free,
Just now as i do,
Have my heart set at bay,
to feel, think and breath this life we live.
Calm rain pellets dash above the porch roof.
Aroma of the heated pavement from the hot sun during the day.
Let me breath.
Let me be me.

just checking in as
madness and earth are shaking,
while the sun rises in Thunder Bay, and
the trucks at the Moscow subway take speed, all
I need is a piece of earth under my feet.
How Much?

Massive, gray, these leaden waves
bear their unchanging burden—
the sameness of each day to day

while the wind seems to struggle to say
something half-submerged planks at the mouth of the bay
might nuzzle limp seaweed to understand.

Now collapsing dull waves drain away
from the unenticing land;
shrieking gulls shadow fish through salt spray—
whitish streaks on a fogged silver mirror.

Sizzling lightning impresses its brand.
Unseen fingers scribble something in the wet sand.

Originally published by Southwest Review