Weather Near the Atlantic: Torrid
It started on the day you
hollowed out your bones, in hopes to fly
and I wore my concrete shoes
because I’ve always quite preferred the ground.
You told me I have never possessed enough backbone
conveniently forgetting the times you unzipped my skin
and stole my strength away
but I continue to sit in the dirt and draw pictures with sticks
ones where you were a demon and I was an angel
we loved each other anyway.
Or perhaps I was the demon and you were the angel.
I can never remember.
It started on the day I became a picket fence
white and dainty, safe from dogs and horses
but not from swift fingers and feet that were intent on penetrating my yard.
You told me, as you flew away
that you were always destined for greatness, and I, failure
so me and my concrete shoes laid our hearts at the bottom of the riverbed
your lips eating clouds.
Or perhaps I was the one who ate clouds
and you were the one who was dead in the water.
I can never remember.
===============================
Like the name of it? That's the actually name of this piece. Hence the username. :)
This is one of the poems from my new book entitled "The Weather Near the Atlantic."
This is from Part One: Overcast.
I am posting this in celebration of the fact that a fan in Australia would like to purchase copies of all 6 of my poetry books for a hefty fee, and would like me to autograph and personalize all of them!
Yay, success! :)
PS: This is not the original structure of this piece. It has been altered due to AMHD.
