Middle Of The Atlantic

Sitting in the wreckage of this torporific night
Waiting for a siren and the jaws of life
Pull me from collapse put my wounds on ice
I want out of this ditch but the wheel’s stuck tight

I drank too much from the gravity well
Weighed my ambitions on a planetary scale
The bigger they are the slower they revolve
One billion years later and nothing’s resolved

When they say I’m antiseptic
Do they mean I’m introspective
Or do they mean I’m as pedantic
As a dictionary in a plastic bag
In the middle of the Atlantic

The clatter of shoes destroyed my silence
A cold thrashing wind nearly drove me to violence
Through the music of noise I found my balance
As a camera obscura unblinking and silent

Sitting in the tide pool of a soporific sea
Lava rock my prison where beauty holds the key
Beauty’s a bird made of feather-weight sleep
They’re flocking on sands just beyond my reach

When they say I’m pessimistic
Do they mean I’m realistic
Or do they mean I’m as frantic
As a cat in a burlap sack
In the middle of the Atlantic.


Originally published 12-03-2004 at blog.myspace.com/ashamblesburg


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