just to write

i dream far away,

it stays at bay,

i sleep and sway

and wonder in this ruined night.

are the old answers the right way?

do they have promises in their form,

or are they shadows true lies hide in?

i remember the sea's salt in my throat that day i drowned,

the frightening sky, lying to me on which way is down,

the hot in the water, the cold of the onlookers, thinking i was playing,

playing at dying like real men do.

i dream night and day,

i dream i might stay,

my death i'll betray,

and for these wandering wonderings, i'll be a poet,

i'll do them for free, and sell them, you'll see,

late at night under the street light intersection,

when the cops come i'll run.

they won't catch me,

i'm crafty.

why die just to live? the opposite seems truer, the gods allow it,

from far away, where the dreaming's good.

from far away,

no one saves the little boy washing up in the surf,

no one moves to stop his thrashing play,

a little boy with the ocean in his throat

mixing with his screams of living,

underwater all things sound in a rush,

underwater, salt tastes like true thick blood,

it tastes like forever.