Equal Parts

Inconsistency is always an issue
when you’re the sky, whether scientists
are doing calculations surrounding
you or not. Even the clouds disarray,

skew what our minds think of as shapes,
or omens, or ways to dissipate slow
as dripping molasses. I’m sure lungs still
holding my breath are waiting for him

to use words as a cure or a weapon,
any reassurance the waves don’t reflect
blue mutability, won’t hold our bones
for too long, constant grinding away,

against each other, then apart, wave
after lulling salted wave, too buoyant
with longing to sink, oh, how we wish
lucidity and ghosts would drown…

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s