Wednesday, September 2, 2015
What a cop out to make an apology for your creativity.
End up a dropout mistaking mythology for activity.
You look down.
You look drawn.
Thin and tapered, you compromise,
just watch that water rise.
There, the grainy video on CNN of the bridge buckling
under the demand of a flood, just what luck brings.
Should you decide to continue deceiving yourself.
Should you ask of a residue conceiving a shelf
on which to place who you are.
So far you've sparred with nothing insofar as Mylar.
A thin transparent sheet of separation.
A fin on the horizon of the ocean.
Notice of vague danger,
silt moving pages, divine arranger.
A shark's tooth as a souvenir for your love
hanging from leather thread strung above
a dog stuck and laid low by malnutrition.
Every cognition keeping it chained with a shun.
This sand moves slowly holding lengths taut.
The waters move fast eroding fenced plot.
The development does not matter, being man made.
It will all fall under persistent moisture, slow fade.
Though water may be strong,
just change your bearing headlong.
Raise your head just as the water drowns you.
Whatever was said, it matters less than the sounds do.