August 17, 2010

i can't swim with real writers

For seasons of me
Cyclical reasons
Lying face up
To the sun
Cloud-clad against
Polished wood

Boat floated
Over vast, open seas
Lost with rogue waves
And unsettled sediment (sentiment)
Alone with wind
No land in sight

My only people fish
Fingers brush the water
Inviting the apex
To taste my helplessness
Mermaid pod teased
In spirals to the earth

Nighted moon
Laughs at me
Each reflected white-cap
A giggle of silent proportions
Times millions
In inescapable waters

Burning sun stares
Turn pale skin red to blister
With each pass
I shrivel in the shadows
To nothing
Feckless verbal self defense

Over the weathered side
Seeing myself
Knowing I'm fooled
Inability drips from my sweated hair
Tangling with seaweed
My words drown with me

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Heather,I LOVE this one! It's my favorite poem ever. Your imagery is stunning.

Gay said...

The anon comment is mine...stupid phone wouldn't let me identify myself or even finish the damn comment. I believe this poem proves that you can outswim most 'real' writers!