the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Bad Skin

Always a day late and a bit too long
So that salt starts collecting on the corners of my lips.
My finger tips start to prune as they drag in the water,
Trying to keep myself stable, but mobile,
As I drift through shifting synthetic seas.
An idea can be re-gifted only so many times,
Until the surprise is worn out like weathered resin;
I am taking in water, but my voice still cracks
As it bellows out, shouting at a shattered sky.
The reef can keep my broken ships,
My anchors left deep scars.
I can stay above the fathoms
Safely moored on fading stars.

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