The lighthouse is lit with candles

I can see light in the darkness, deep at sea – yet – close to shore.

The lighthouse is lit with candles but the glass is cracked from years past. – yet –

To stand on the bow and see the candle- lit – fishes swim with gold, silver and green – like –

burning dollars,

burning trees,

burning bribes,

burning me,

Watching as the candle- lit-  water-mirrors expose the burning souls

These children of water wet with fire…. trading energy for food never no’ing

We are cold in the dark water & warm w/ fire on the surface

The dichotomy of sound reduced to a feather and a gill

The epitome is found to be leather and bill

so this shell can burn but my soul is chaste.

Let tears from science that become cluttered with letters

Fig haters from lions that become hungry with lions

Let’s take one last look .every. man. women. and. child.

@ the embers of our souls to divine if we still live!

Public Mooring

I can’t guess the rage inside your depth but I can tell your deep inside.

Slow to rise you languish in effort but stand strong in denial & retribution.

I won’t deny          {four} these lines live among us, but while some cross the lines

I see you jump effortlessly over and slide under

until you are battered and torn asunder,

while {three} others can run through {two} lines and remain {one}.

Is there a {zero}?

Starfish on the Starboard side..

Shame sticks to my sweat
molecules tangled up like dew

I as I stumble I know I will I not I fall but

You do not.

I So I look I up I to I see I you I loose I faith I and I fall. but

My heart is screaming but my soul is deaf.

Sea Sickly Pears

As we wait for the fruits of our labors to become
the explosions of tomorrow…

we eat.

As we pine for the trees to build the leaves
that will fill our heads today…

we eat.

As we fall asleep waiting for that final treat
to swallow us the way we devoured life yesterday…

we eat.

Dropping Anchor

And now the sweater vests are clinging to us like spam to an inbox.
The rocks climb and the seas swim only to see the future under a rose colored glass.

I know there must be a god or at least a map;
that can assist with the current state of recreational sub-existence.

Flushed & febrile
I quaintly wait for the ocean floor to become my ceiling.
But
alas

I will place this message in the bottle…..
ever so carefully, as not to break the shallow halls of fortitude.

Day 1: The sea is angry

The sea is angry.  The sky is not.