-It’s like the tides of the blue carpet,
waves and ripples in different tones.
Coral stones in blacks and greys, scattered,
a crumbled reef peppered into the salted living
room sea. Low tide Monday and I find myself
dry, eyes red with a dizzy head. Lips cracked,
I can taste blood, though I cannot swallow.
I lie, staring at the white nicotine stained stucco
sky, visible by the dim morning light. My motivation
is dead; I would drown myself but the tide is
low. I feel pale, maybe invisible and light
with the possibilities of this world. I become aware
of breath, white crystallized puffs, and I breathe
the sea salt breeze into sore sour lungs. Bruise
sensations course through my brittle veins.
Eyelids heavy. Sea sick dizziness as I rock
slow from side to side. The pulsating of my
mind. Close my eyes and breathe in cold, dead,
frozen air. I shiver, wish I could be anywhere, but
here, inside the bones that hold the sail
Seagull ashes spread their wings, dancing
over the dead at sea. Floating away from
the flame; there is a fire. Feel the warmth,
eyes snap open, white opaque clouds, from
my wounded bow. Smoking and
releasing ash, I lie motionless on the
reef peppered seas; I simply float
on low tide Mondays.
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