The Sea Under My Hair Is Hungry

Seasons of saffron,

of fairness.

Faucets of Holy water,

of an audience that never claps.

Beauty is never exotic,

Growing everywhere.

The plague is in my closet.

My shoes are conjurers,

My eyes lakes we and your father

went fishing in.

You caught tap shoes.

He caught concurrence wriggling like a worm.

I caught the cable of an elevator

and slid down into myself.

There are no lights down here.

The sea under my hair is hungry.

Dive in.

I’m watching from the bottom.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.