Oceans

Thought of me without you;
it would be like oceans.
Typhoon seasick,
and the north star fallen.
Sank with the ship like her captain
to the bottom of nothing
where I dwell with the strange life
and forget that I was something.

Untitled

I've rehearsed my understanding
of that which demanded it.
Been drunk for a week
and left dreaming
of halcyon days.
By a lack of understanding
you shut the door on me.
In my ennui
I caused harm.

I was lost inside myself
and you found me that way;
like a dog
that doesn't wag its tail.

The Weatherman

My head is fucking cloudy;
full of rainclouds.
Storms of strength unseen
anger seas of calm
between my temples.
Golden rays of sun
are in the forecast of my mind
for days unrevealed.

mushrooms

I relive scenes
of warmer moments;
your essence drifts
through my time.
It was the same
on those mornings after drinking.
Just the same
as flashbacks
from last night's mushrooms.
Now I stare softly
at 5 o'clock sunsets
that come so early
as your sunset
in my sky.

River Drunk

Last night
I was on the other side
of the ocean,
breathing clean air.
Watched reflections
of distant shores
projected on a screen
of cool waters.
Heard a late-night train
headed to faraway places,
and drowned
in all of it.
This morning
I rise early
to headaches
and unfulfilled responsibility.

Shoreline

I saw you walking
along my sandy beaches
so I made my way to the shoreline,
but found no size 8 footprints;
they'd been washed away by tides.
I called your name
and received my answer:
     crashing waves
     ocean's sound
I realized
you'd been on vacation.
A swim, I thought
would wash away the longing
and the heat of your disdain.
Instead I found myself
drowning in the calmest waters.

Stagnant Life

With no drink
to ease my mind,
I shut myself in
and deny prophecies.
By breathing perfume air,
I sink into the past like lead
to the floor
of the ocean of time.
The still life I was living
Is now the stagnant life I live,
but really,
it feels the same. 

Ethereal Bedrooms

I'm falling for phantoms.
Romance hides away
in the ethereal bedrooms
of my dreams.
And the days
are days of bleak uncertainty
spent choking
on self doubt.
I want to burn;
I want to drown,
yet hold fast
to delusions of my immortality.

It was real this time

Sun had set
on summer
for farewells
to old friends
and hound dogs
alike.
This time
I did it for real,
then stood outside
the gas station
staring blankly
at people passing.
I wanted
to go to hell.

Like The Old Years

I had to rest
and bury myself in time.
It’s summer again,
still loveless
as it was in the old years,
before the nights
were laced
with drunken half-sleep
and cryptic dreams
that remind me
of my countless
shortcomings.