Particles of sand swept from beneath my feet
As the wind blows into the nonexistent future
Uncovering remnants of a past set in stone
Relieves my dry mouth with a taste so bittersweet
But in the end my solace is only a mirage
A fleeting feeling carried away by the dry air
impatience prolongs erosion
To leave my mountain of guilt for an indefinite stay

Upon this shore my unsure feet stand
Slowly sinking into soft sand
Seashells shine as they catch sunlight
And drifted wood is washed all but white

Seagulls swoop from skies and soar
Birds and prey at a natural war
The sunrise glow fades
Air grows hot
In warm display beach is caught

Illuminates the sea below
From surface to undertow
A gentle ocean breeze waltzes by
As if the water breathes with a sigh

Enhancing sunbeams that darken my skin
Tranquility I am soaking in
This morning view so peaceful and bright
Where all is well within my sight

How many summer days remaining to waste?
When snow arrives I'll miss the taste
Of saltwater bitter on my tongue
The cool sensation filling my lungs

Upon this shore I memorize
The horizon distant from my eyes
The light outside fights the darkness within
And my cares float out as the tide rolls in

rip all my hairs out hoping they access a brain cell to help me wipe my memory like a shaun white, snow tidal wipeout

strand by strand hoping to find a destresser to pull the plug of my brain's photobooks

you catalyze my grief and a cobweb nostalgia
silk an admired commodity yet **** out by a creature who has it handed to it at aggregated birth

stuck in this mess
but i have my fist clenched around a web which is as adhesive as a 48 hour hardened glue

glued to you but i'm acetone fused and it's only a serum's distance to an isle of distant cries , haunting melodies of  f# major vocal hymns and

a sand filled paradise where wild life flies and quick sand awaits to offer a gorgeous, satin, embodiment of warmth.

yours deceivingly..

that good old horrendous feeling

I am a French horn, a bottle neckless hourglass and butterscotch tape

You're a red harp with veins painted on the side

When I come home, you see me as an acrylic heap with chips of lead and belly aching homing words

Scotch sticks and smoke smells and the stitches are uncomfortable on my neck where you often warm your hands

I am a masquerade of shellfish clamoring on about the epitome of burlesque humor

You’re alien to anything other than sourdough and design

I have structured my thesis around burlesque and you fail to see the humor

When I fear the apologists

You fear the escapists

I am the tigers of the world, borrowing viciousness

You’re a long pause, loved and disquieted, painting my stripes as veins

I’m freaked out now because the apologists are escaping and the escapists are apologizing

At this clear impasse, you pity and press on until my fingers at the French horn drain to my sides

I am an island in a puddle of sand

is the sand in front of the ocean
is the water the end of the line
are the fish in the seas our connection
to a life, that has no define
just think of all the questions
that have yet, or may never be asked
i hate to make this proposal
as it seems like a tough task to grasp...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 191