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Left Foot Poet Nov 2017
for the 111 yr. old young lady from Mars

fluids in, fluids out  

wake up at midnight, lips, throat, even eyes, California Death Valley parched, white crusted-stuck together,
it takes Poland Spring water from the Northeast to unlock the throat, ****** not sipped, from a plastic gourd  the chilling wetness slap to the body and brain screams metaphor, poem in there somewhere,

so what if it's spat-past midnight,
isn't this one of those soul-criticality's,
staying hydrated, (is) disco staying alive  

make sense to you?
the older I get, thirstier I am, could be I'm drying/dying out from the inside out,  
doctors clueless, but then again they don't reveal all they see out of poetic professional courtesy and they are tired of
yeah yeah yeah,
my professional courtesy answer to their  dire warnings repetitious  

tonight tho the metaphor runs strong like a mountain stream,
a Mt. Marcy beginning trickle growing into a mighty Hudson,
and the driving urge to drink, simple replenishment, birth fluid  
is strong transformed into words

water is words, the water is wide, the poems hydrate what's left on the inside, and the metaphor transforms itself again

water is words, words are water,  
the difference huge, the difference minuscule,
both pour, both refresh like a mother's body fluids,
all for one, one for all, and as closing time grows nigh,
staying-hydrated is primate

place a new cold bottle in readiness for my
3 o'clock feeding
11/14/17 12:04am
Austin Hunt Sep 2019
**** jenkins says to drink more water

I’ve been dehydrated
living at sea, pirated
but here's some tea, I made it
to some knee high waves
passing my feet, I wade
and start to deep dive away
into some me time, maybe
now I see why I felt
Like I was 3 lives away from
something sweet, like honey
from a beehive, I think
I tried to deny away that
It was me, my way of
painting free skies grey, as
if my green eyes glazed and
then left me blind to rays of
blue that define days and
nights, that we find stay in
every designed way the
sun and streetlights aim their
light at things like bays where
Otis sings tides away and
water brings life paving
ways for tree lines, shaving down
the screen time slavery where
pictures we like wave at
us from behind eight gigs
of our own devices, waiting
for an e-vite to say, “welcome
to the free life”, take us
back to T-9, making typos
due to key size, lately I
drop speed by lacing
life with Jeep drives, break from
running it’s the Suite Life, saved time
is a dream mined straight from
underneath shrines made to
teach us “decline today, to-
morrow’s reclined shade is
worth the bee line”, race against
the streamlined weight of
the “keep grinding” wages, get
your lease signed, waive your
rights to free fly, pay with
card get denied, straying
from the street signs may just
get you steep fines, say that
we can realize today that
we can reply, “hey, let’s
fall asleep by the lake and
watch the leaves fly away and
maybe drink wine that tastes a
little refined, play some
songs that beat right against
the heart and keep finding ways
to really greet life amazed
by every tweet by jays of blue
that leap by faith into
the color”

— The End —