been darting
between lightning
strikes
a series of
glass footprints
etched into the sand
the only sign
i was ever here

the essence of
reality is mercurial
running between
my fingers as
i grasp for a
momentary forever
in an eternity
of dreamnettles
tracing surrender
in defiant palpatations

if the goddamned
storms would just
drown the skyline of
a thousand maladies
forty days and
forty fucking nights
is a good start
just be sure no
poet reaches the ark
it isn’t a proper
cleansing until
hope is a bloated
corpse bobbing on
the receding waves