1/21/2007 pt. 2

tasted like something I ate
and spit back up on the same day
because you’re sour
I’m bitter
we’re sitting straight and withered
under a blooming old tree
the dead branches weigh down
some crack and fall to us
but we move just enough
to avoid being hit
but not close enough
that we’d be sitting together
we’re still waiting separate
for winter spring and summer
to fall
and seasons to cease being
something in the way
of everything we say
--
I like it when I slip under
the waves that wake me every day
this sea bed I lay within
this ocean soaked with sleep
tides rise and fall with dreams
and morning is the waning
night time is the rise
high tide and I’m alive
speaking [breathing] in my sleep
like some hurricane on shore
tearing up the sand bars
and flooding over the town
rise and shine like a cloud break
sun hits and I’m awake
sweat drenched and ready for the current
to release me from this sea bed