The waves

I watched the waves
pummel the shoreline
endlessly
a pull and tug with the moon
as the sun
lowered in the sky

The water glistened like gold
shimmering in the setting simmer
seeming solemn at a great distance while
thundering against the rocky shore
with frenetic determination

The rocks held sway in the battle
holding sand in place
but they were weather beaten
bruised
thin wisps of matter
holding onto a promise of tomorrow

I watched the waves
as one such precipice
singular in its layer of lava
a breath's thickness
was broken by the battering
ram of inevitability
surrendering in a tumble
into the water insatiable
its claim of clay and clattering
collecting above the surface
like a landed lord
gathering payment from his vassals

The sand
the rocks
the calcified remnants of
oxygen-wielding monsters
may succumb
into the depths or
erode into ash
but the water will remain

Hard Knocks

A man sits disheveledly on the sidewalk, back pressed up against the hard plastic of the bench bolted to the concrete.  He stares angrily at his feet, cursing the slippers that have abandoned them.  His toes are gnarled and his soles whitened with callouses earned step by step as he wandered the city streets, shuffling between sky-kissed monoliths, in search for a quiet corner of rest.

His eyes are unfocused and dry from lack of moisture; he can’t remember why.  If he could recollect, he would ponder on the last time he had encountered clean water, the last time he could remember eating food that didn’t come from the trash pit of a restaurant littered with pale-skinned and shiny tourists.

He looks down at the sidewalk again, barely making out the line of a sandal, dark against the light-colored cement.  Suddenly overcome with a despairing anger, he picks up the first object his hands find and begins to beat the shoe mercilessly.  If he could construct a reasoning within a public court of appeal, he might claim that exhaustion drove him to a kind of madness to lash out at the object whose absence had caused him so much pain and grief.  He might claim the shoe was society and had abandoned him to live in the grime and oil of society’s modern runoff. 

But he could not explain his motions, only continually attack the object within his sight, within his control, within his cathartic reach for release.  The sound of the beating echoed off the glass and metal giants standing quietly in reproach, ignorant of their inner complicity.

following the soap

I wash my mouth with soap
like my Daddy always told me
followed by a swig of whiskey
to get the sin back in again
the compromises of
a recovering Catholic.

nuance

she expresses emotions

in shades of white

waiting

for someone to see the colors

so she can take them home

keep them in her heart

until it wanes weary

at last

ceasing its incessant beating

Justified

More and more
butterfly corpses litter the sidewalk
choking on the absence of oxygen
falling to their doom
beauty in motion
almost absurd in its sudden stillness

A familiar refrain
on the failures of man to give wing
to potentialities
slumbering in the poorest of people
as measured in caricature
rather than character

We are Cain and Abel
amnesiac in our inability
to recognise our own brothers
while we somnambulize
through our ragged breaths
wheezing against the fumes
that keep us drugged and dreaming

We murder with pen and sword
drawing arbitrary lines in the sand
to maintain the proper colour of things
in the properest of places
and call it justified

Lost in tomorrows

anchorless by shores
foreign, without harbor, just
growing lighthouses

seas swell with hunger
jutting rocks like jagged teeth
gape for sustenance

time, but a construct,
becomes fleshy, a wet sponge
seeking to be squeezed

in-betweens

like a papaya tree
growing into the earth
instead of reaching for the stars

my fruit at the base of my trunk
for all to savour

expanding inward to
fathomless depths
wood rings and circular meanings

folding memories into pockets
like postcards
pictures of what never really happened

silent sentinel
of the forgetting of things

left behind
stored safely in a box
that will never be opened

I am within the breath of in-betweens