I stare mesmerized
at a last lifeless leaf
clinging to bare branch.
How alike we were,
brittle,
yet still hanging on.
Afraid of feeling too much,
my thumb caresses
then depresses
the button to deliver
morphine melancholy.
Let's talk waves.
Not the subtle lapping
of sunlit shore
as sea embraces sand.
No soothing sounds
to ease the soul
into somnolence.
There's no place for serenity
in this discussion.
Let's talk swells.
Impulses
that suffuse the nervous system.
Each neuron passing
a silent scream to the next;
starting out as sadistic whispers
escalating into breakers
to batter broken shores
rendering innards a battlefield.
Now, we're talking.
Incessant crashes swallow
the sand in the hourglass,
flip after flip lost in raging storm.
Every second an eon,
while the waves never waver.
Intravenous sandbags
do not buffer
the ceaseless onslaught
and a roaring ocean's rhythm
rocks and rolls ragged edges.
From beneath drooping lids
I watch winter wind coax
the lone straggler to let go.
As a tsunami washes over
inept opiate barriers,
I follow that lonely leaf's lead
and raise canvas to capture
the frigid breeze
that I pray will escort
the essence of this vessel
to a land unplagued
by contrary seas.



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