a mess that mops up
for nobody

scribbled on slate
scenery-

bleeding over
life,

painted as whose beauty
dulls the
knife.

driftwood
eyes

stretched
islands apart,

ice yet stuck in
throat,

smoke signal distant
boats,

seabird feather
sneeze,

in flames,
the ocean trees

flicker
me asleep.

might there be
an end

in which we
stay?

could be you’re far too
kind to say

no care
could bridge

the void between
our dreams

in
reality.

tacky, too small
towel

folded over
mirror,

powdered yet
damp,

caving sun starved
cheek,

tepid swan tears
in her sway,

no push to
speak,

curtains hang like
eyelids,

sorrows perched
on shoulder
bare,

chipped comb teeth
parting grey
hair.

a tired punch through
frozen glass

to evade the
clasp of
time,

deep cleansing cuts
on hands,

in gushing life from
busted dam.