my lungs fill with the ocean waves
my brain refuses to behave
the storm inside my rib cage forms
as my bones reveal the splintered shore
my tear ducts fill to clear the skies
as the loneliness leaves me deprived
and i reach out to anyone
but in the end they always run
or they're torn away from me
either way, no one believes
that i'm drowning on this lonely beach
you are there and i am here
i wonder if you're ever near
if so, why can't you see the signs?
or maybe i am just as blind
i write out "help" in the wistful sand
but i can never have the upper hand
so i become one with this agonizing wind
as my new life on this beach begins

style is the answer to everything --
a fresh way to approach a dull or a
dangerous thing.
to do a dull thing with style
is preferable to doing a dangerous thing
without it.

Joan of Arc had style
John the Baptist
Christ
Socrates
Caesar,
Garcia Lorca.

style is the difference,
a way of doing,
a way of being done.

6 herons standing quietly in a pool of water
or you walking out of the bathroom naked
without seeing
me.