the Davy Jones method

the stars lied,

the clouds laughed,

I sped headlong into icy doubt;

capsized in the shallows;

strung out in a foreign place.

eyes flipped around

like hungover t-shirts.

tongues of my panting sneakers

lapping at the caramelized piss

on a truckstop toilet floor.

looking for less answers;

more solutions.

begging for cool, clear simplicity.

 

I wonder if I can reach home

from this shipwrecked cluster-flock

of a philosophical conundrum.

 

I wonder if I can hold

my breath long enough

to swim through this hypothermic dream

and into the main cargo hold.

 

there’ll be plenty of treasure there:

bloated bodies of squandered hopes,

warm smiles I left folded on forgotten curbs,

wise words that dribbled from my infantile chin

and into waterlogged subconcious.

 

it’ll all be there;

like a shoebox full of ancient golden doubloons,

or a closet full of dead hookers and tax collectors.

 

depends on your perspective, I guess.

 

from where I lie,

anything I can sell to the cockroaches,

that gather around the lights of my eyes

and swarm my sugary bull-shat mouth,

is worth enough groceries

to drag on home.

Reviews

[roarke]

ah, "less answers, more solutions..." if only. if only.

not unlike the Stanislaviski method or the Heimlich maneuver.....

but I sense an undertone here, ... what does it all mean anyway after you pass? Death, the final critique, review, judgmental absolution...

Nice stroll to the end. You make it seem easy.