Don’t mind me.
I’m only quiet cause I’m listening
I’m watching waters, watching carefully
I’m watching the sun set indefinitely
Take away
Just like the river pulls the leaves today
The leaves they float effortlessly
I wish that I could also float away
Watching me
To the days and the time
Just waiting for the nights to multiply
I’m waiting for the moon to tell me why
I’m at such a loss for words
I don’t understand why this river can’t just choose a path
they go different directions but to the same end
I can’t pretend
that I don’t just want to let it take me away.
Don’t notice me
I’m only quiet cause I have nothing to say
I’m just observing, watching mindlessly my thoughts escape. That make their way. Aimlessly.
a propitious
look hinge
as whether
marlin snug
hallow fecund
water depth
yet rotary
band that
circle their
nets as
wires that
web thier
dire nots
with odds
of winning
this perfect
marine harbor
a note on Florida
Some people don't need water to drown.
Their own tears are enough.
the pale blue avieli come and greet me,
my toes dipped far past the skim of the surface.
my ankles, small and knobbed,
gently sway, nodding left to right.

the lovat seagrass spindles and knots with passing aquatics,
smoothly unraveling once through.

the demon, who seems to skirt around this area
of deep greens and violet hues,
lightly takes hold of the flesh of my human legs,
gripping the bone between darkened talons.

it beckons, “what a delicate creature.”

the zephyr of summer leads to misjudgment.
warm, honey-soaked humidity drenches my mother’s linen.
bowls of pomegranate left on granite countertops.

i pull myself in deeper
sulked with an internal despondence.

my eyes seem to catch the reflection of light
of the glistening fangs of a predator.
yet still, i let myself sink into him.

he grasps onto my shoulders, flushed and olive,
dappling the swimming pool with red puddles- a sweet nectar.
holes filling the side of my bovine face.
spurious cinematic comfort.

the shadowy figure proceeds to engulf
my carameled view with the bitter fruit of
knowing the end of a story
before it has had the chance to begin.
The dry and broken sun beats down onto my eyes.
I have not had water for days, and it seems I have lost my taste for air.
Once, this place was an ocean.
Before man, or machine.
Before the chimps, and the lizards, and the fish.
There was only water,
The only sign of life on a lifeless planet.
When the earth was silence, the ocean was the source of sound,
The gentle purring of the planetary gears of life.
The waves, they are the only constant.
They were here before.
And I pray that they will be long after.
R M B 3d
water and air are two very different things
when you pour water out of a container
you're basically replacing it with air

be less afraid of letting go
there's always something bound to come
to replace it, even if you haven't realized it yet
something I came up with while watching someone drink water haha
i begin with a "Hey. What's up?"
and You glance at me, with those eyes.

Eyes that dump me in a pond, leaving
me staring up at the moon --
gray, blue, green - all at once.
like freshly whetted clay, but with so much
life, and wonder (not for me) -- cool... and warm...
alternating, Your gaze passes over me, brushing mine.
my eyes like a Texas winter sky,
all the clouds drifting west, making room
for You to fill me up with whatever distaste, and
moody vitriol i'm sure must follow.

but behind Your eyes I see a brilliant craftswoman
at work -- taking notes, sculpting the complex minutiae of
every word deployed from
Your plush, pursed lips. like the scales of a cichlid, candy-apple  wine, emerging from under those gray, blue, green celestial orbs in the sky. and then You speak, and instead of a trickle,
a stream pours forth, every word charging forward with intention,
purpose, each with more direction than anything i could ever
hope to write. each syllable a warrior aching for redemption.  

You speak of the World as You see it.
with those clay moon Eyes, up on high.
i can feel Earth crying, still submerged, the sky coming down,
feeding Your anger, my light hair burning up the Atmosphere. and i'm so damn happy to be Here, with You.
and of course my words sputter forward, like muddled children,
mimicking a cloud on a cool Austin day, as it is suddenly shoved
away, to be replaced by a desperate rain, a torrent, never ceasing.
the water falls, unflinching, hoping to fill You up, to satisfy.
but it all drains out through the porous clay, and my heart sinks, like a slab of Granite chucked into the pond by a young boy with
long blonde hair; no distance, not a single skip on the water, and the energy goes out of my eyes, becoming liquid in Your hands.

i could never hope to match that little creator,
molding each phrase like Pygmalion, with enough
Passion, Anger and Love for the fallen, for the
dispossessed, to give real life to the words, to have them love back.
You're a Greek tragedy waiting to happen,
the Hero of a retrofitted tale of love and war.
not Helen, but Menelaus, come to destroy paris for
daring to presume love. You always know the truth of the matter.
You know your worth. and of course, so do i.
i suffocate, stuck in the clay bottom of the pond, staring into Your
refracted Image above the water,
begging for an audience with that
infinitely fertile kneader of clay, who forces perfection from Mineral, paralyzing me as the clay hardens.  
The cottonmouth are aroused to action, as the words end, and like
Her words, the venom is unequivocal. I shudder; the Eyes are gone.  
The clay, algae moon is below me now, forming a halo as I sink down.

i cough and clear my throat. you're walking away. i wish i could do the same, but I'm stuck to the floor, and I think my shoe is untied.
Single entities we are,
alone in our galleys
sailing solemnly along the vast expanse
of this glittering sea.

Our eyes meet along the waves,
but both are veiled,
caught within our ferries,
a barrier between.

But if my boat meet water
as does yours
are we not connected
with hands used as oars?
when I die

turn my body into ashes


spread it over the ocean

so I can go home

after a lifetime of feeling

Inspired by Amanda Lovelace's book "the princess saves herself in this one"
- a mermaid escapist
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