In a heap or a drift
in an eye gone to sleep
in a castle near flooded
when the tide turns to creep
and you’re swimming in sand
married into
the short and the sweet
when wedded to the
grains of the wrong man
the time comes to leave him
the times comes to flee
in a heap or a drift
you run to the sea
and she gives you, the sea
an abundance of ardor
she gives you the free
she fastens the leftover
layers of you
in a heap or a drift
you run for the sake
of your murdered past
that unruly unwashed
essence of you
and you fly when you meet him
and then sink like a sin
you lie in the lonely
when you are sure of him
and bask in the possible
scowl at the laughable
in a heap or a drift
in an eye gone to sleep
in a castle near flooded
when the tide turns to creep
and you’re swimming in sand
when you are married into
the short and the sweet
when wedded to the
strains of the right man
you still fill your glass
with deniable fright
you still fill your glass
while he sleeps through the night
and you say
my love, my sandstorm
my form
my son of god
I am yours in the norm
with a handshake
I mourn
with a drunken nod
life without music
this language you gave me
In a heap or a drift
in an eye gone to sleep
in a castle near flooded
when the tide turns to creep
and you’re swimming in sand
when you are married into
the tugboat that saves you
on a wave of the likes
of jaco pastorius
on a wave that includes
only the two of us
in a heap or a drift
in an eye gone to sleep
I curl like a slug
on a newly born leaf