Last night was our second to last open mic of the year. I don't have much more to add as preface except for the fact that events of the past week were on my mind as I wrote the lines below. I have more to say on that matter. Thankfully this poem is not the last word on the subject. It's just helping me get started. Thanks for reading.
Wreck
Weep not, failed sailor.
You and her were two ships
colliding in the night.
Happens more than you know
with fewer explosions
(not to make you feel bad).
They'd light a candle
to mark this passing,
but you're not trusted with fire.
Glass leaps from your hands,
hits the floor and runs
like cartoons in pursuit.
Accidents circle you,
hungry cats waiting
to feed on your feats.
This is her universe.
You can only trip on
her endless string theory.
Entropy slides down,
wayward ketchup stolen
by fly-by fry.
You fall down a black hole
to anywhere else.
She tells you this is growth.
She goes from seafarer
to preacher, promises
you'll be a man someday.
She sends yours spiral
cycling on it's way, knows
you'll land where you choose.
 |
| Thinking too much about absent people. |
Special thanks to Bil Lewis, David Miller, MIchael Igoe, Devin Simon, Nancy Messom, Martha Boss and James Van Looy.
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