"accustoming" poems
the beach is for losing yourself
i ask you what manner of man or beast could ignore its siren song
it dragged our silly smiles across the sand
feet trailing giddily behind us
we slipped wearied into the warm unceasing avalanche
and a year was washed away
in the thunderous salt rinse
the beach is for best friends and for beer
it is for games beneath the stars
while a plankton metropolis fluoresced underfoot
and a meteor grazed the spine of leo
we slumbered through brooding rains
that slunk away when we awoke to stare them down
white shapes cast slender shadows on the reeds at noon
sea breezes crooned tunes every child has always known
in languages no man will ever understand
the beach is for all of us
last night we dreamt of ancestral slimes marching out of it
today let us plunge in
it is for even creeping snakes and gnawing fleas
verily
but most of all
it is for your glistening face
for two sleepy seagreen eyes accustoming themselves to the bright shores of morning
while your coffee cooled on the camp stove
it is for the sheen of your wild brown arms
the surf of your laughter
words with which you filled a quiet moment
circling in my mind like gulls over the harbor
yes most of all
most of all
it is for you
speeding down the narrow cape
i was beside you
tapping in tandem with your electronic music
realizing more with every pastel cottage flickering by
that you had found me
and i had never felt
so safe
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 3:25 AM UTC
MY SPINE
a crooked tree and you the moss that covers it.
A blanket of comfort encloaking my mind and numbing time.
How is it that we admire trees yet they are not immune to our plague of advantage?
and neither are we to the sickness of adjustment,
slowly accustoming our eyes and minds until what one tree used to awe us with a forest could not excite.
SO YOU
are not only the moss but the avid rain.
Feeding my growth and cleansing my
rotten,
crooked
spine.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC