treasures

Searching through my attic last night I found some of my old poetry...
Finally, thanks to this little blog, a place to publish.
Enjoy.

The Open Boat
Cold in December, I rock along the waves
Fettered to this window pane,
I dip along the crests and valleys of
a montainous Sea covered in glass.

You can serve my oats on a silver platter.
They are still hard and cold when they reach
my warm lips, cracked from a salty breeze.
I miss our wild life in the wintertime.

It is an old habit of mine to fall off the waters bridge;
Drown bread in the smell of tempered fish.
At night when the Sea is calm, the sun setting,
I play back the sickness
in my head.