Bay of Withered Gardens
It's a shame that we have to wait
for the shore to recede and the moon to take us to
the cocoon in the middle of the tide's break.
The chrysalis is crystal clear and we can see so very deep,
we peep at the towns of old weeds
that creak as they brace the currents from the bay.
Pixelated Ocean Currents
Into the waves my face is laced with
seagull egg shells and dead crab pastels
I sink under the snowy, creamy sun
and drift beneath the salty avalanche's run
Pixelated ocean currents carry me gently away.
Chasing Ghost Trees
The trees in the woods of ash and light,
the needled earth, the sparrow's blight
The nest-less points of skyline fur,
sway and move, the birds disperse
And chase the ghost trees over the hill,
the moving forest is never still,
their misty forms elude the birds,
and cold fog engulfs the leafy herds
On the plain of grey hay,
the girl plays in the cloud's shade
As the day fades, her mother calls,
but the girl hides among the colorless stalks
And makes a home, a grassy dome
Lined with harvest mouse bone
Where she sits, quietly amidst,
the drone of distant ghost ships.
A Delicately Woven Hull
Spiders weave a home in the stale wood,
webs cover the hull of this cracked boat,
that should've rightly sunk long ago,
but is kept afloat on this dark lake,
by a delicately spun deck, lapped gently by ink ripples
Spider's spittle ensures this tired wreck will sail.
Among Tomato Trees
Underneath the tomato tree
is where you sat and waited for me
We lay together and watched the clouds,
rise at noon
over the sea.
Those who dwell beneath the field,
under stone and grass their bones are sealed
Until the monsoons soften the clay,
they swim through the soil
to the woods where I lay.
It sounds like they were written by the ghost of Nick Drake preserved in the mainframe of a millenia-old computer sputtering out on ticker-tape and preserved in bound volumesReplyDelete