Though the stars twist in twinkles
in the holey sky, I can only stare
at the hodge-podge light and cry
with earth-intoxicated frowns. We
know the earth is silent as it spins
but the screams seem to contort me
with their Munschian mouths agape
sucking in the dead skin of life.
Floating and tucked in scarlet covers,
this life tastes like rice cakes
at the county fair – wanting more
salt in the dark remnants of light.
I stare down at the the frosty ground
and wonder where the streaks of shadows
congregate from – where did the light
shut itself in? Who slapped it sideways
Until it crawled on the ground, bloody
and spinning in silence – tasteless?
Light bruised and buried in the ground
cold and saltless in its dead cure.
I pray that the light and the salt
would seep like a mist from the ground
enveloping the dry world in a wet film
of unsuppressed growth, green and gross
like the beautiful vision of algae
snuggled on the bottom of boats
at rest in the dock, locked in tight
progressions of shadowy saltless light.
I stare at the light and the shadows
and the people drinking their hopes.
I walk out into the morning dew, lost
in the salty slips of broken boats.