2.16.2010

Scene 180: Ocean (One Carry-on Only)

Finished with the taste of copper.
Spit.
Didn't you listen?
You're late.
Breathe harder.
You can't feel your toes?

Three
men run across the street,
decked in white
trying to fish you out
of the bowl you dove into.

The octagon fell flat
The red didn't reach your ears,
and neither did I.
You're allowed only one carry-on.
Why don't you get the rest checked?

Drowning like a fish because of the weight of your suitcases.
Pathetic.
Look!
Now you're in the deep-end.
The mirror is foggy now,
hiding behind bars,
did you forget?

Black luggage sinks






I've been experimenting with a lot of new styles of poetry lately. It's different.

Very different from what I'm used to.

But that's what this project's for.

Let's see if this works.

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