It’s the first time and
again to tell you
I’m as broken as an entire house hand blown and probably painted
like goose eggs.
And again, Salt’s all I add
to things I already like, it’s
no understatement I’ve
made you an ocean filled full of fish bones.
I assume success is exciting
that danger too
is too and
again that for you
there are too many words.
Peach,
bear,
broken,
syrup,
or-terse,
are not enough to get life to work like you but
are enough to get life to work for you.
When or not in the right order
you do or don’t understand don’t or do you?
Necessarily,
I’m picking thorns from the years
andagain lips used to tell you you
have less faults than a rose.
In essence and again I’m a fishbone hut
in a **** storm and again
roses aren’t as red without the ****** that
may or may not have made the same red as
half the red on your hands already, and again,
I eat/ate oceans and am fishbones
breaking me brings no wishes or good luck
or and again I’ve choked children and
again talking to you is like chopping a tree onto myself.

This path to present
Has been perilous.
With crests and troughs as climactic
As ancient seas of merciless rogues.
             Sunken sails glare from depths too shallow.
Phantom vessels that once held their course,
Now scattered like orphaned thoughts.
I trudge across this necropolis,
Tempted to remember.
Fiending to forget.

I hold my course.

Through still and storm,
          I ...endlessly... find myself.

Time
(andtimeagain,)
My eyes un l  a   c    e     ;
Re-birthed out of ambivalent waters,
To observe broader horizons
From greater peaks.
To regard departed trenches
With unquestionable discernment.
To see with eyes unclouded
By fear and anguish.

My voyage
Is one of contrasts;
Constant inconstants.
I travel with reverence
of both summit
And valley,
Light and shadow.
From unconscious
To conscious,
Give me death,
And give me life
Again
And again.

Andagain

…