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Shore Leave
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Published Works
The angry steam escapes the kettle.
We are watching the smoke fill
the room. Moist softness that
grows like moss on a tree; this
is the importance of being me.
Tangle my ropes into statements
of being. Touch myself in obscene
patterns of lust. We are forever
discussing the movements of the
stars up above. We never try to
reach them, we only talk and talk
in dribbled shadows about them.
I am lowering my expectations to
drown myself in the hot water of
failure. We won't move ahead any
longer, we won't forget the moon
as it lowers itself into the jumbled
mud that becomes our clear line of
vision. I am helpless in the line of
your fire. I am open to new points
of attitude, and with that thought in
my consciousness...I ramble like a
sailor on shore leave.
