My consciousness is
a lighthouse and my mind the ship.
There is no fog, I can see the coast
and I am on auto-pilot. The shiny metal pilot
drives on the highway or does paperwork
at the factory or writes a check
for the rent. But the fog settles on
the water, they are reunited bosom
buddies and I bid farwell to all
warnings. It is hard to steer
in these moments. I am pilot and
sailor, I am in charge of the poop deck
and I am altering coarse starboard. My
tongue is tied to you,
And when it rains, I see the light
through prisms, I see the light in
its full, turgid spectrum dancing
with the water. And I am wet. And
she is wet. And we have come this far
together. My spirit floats within her.
this is as good a poem as I’ve ever read..Lyrical like a song but dark and brooding too..I’ve read all the stuff on this site and like it all to varying degrees, but io my mind, this piece is the real thing..