Kalaloch

The day ends as it started, in the flat
And hopeless light beneath a suffocating
Bank of clouds. The sky is gray. The
Ocean's gray. The sand upon which
It expires may seem golden when
There's sun, but in this light it's also
Gray. This world, shot in black and
White, in drizzle, chills me to my bones,
But it seems where I ought to be.
I'll take the constant crash of waves
Above the wretched poetry I've read
Of late: the guileless gush, the axes
Ground, the shallow flash of workshop
Shit, the streams of consciousness
Which lead, like little Jordans, into
Lifeless seas, and I will take the water
Down my back in place of pointless
Conversation, and the sight of someone
I have loved ignoring me. The night
Approaches. I have made a fire. Soon,
I'll only hear the sea. I'll have something
To eat. I'll drink, and go to bed, and be
Glad that I'm here alone, away from
She who now disdains me, and from
Those who, though they may be
Well intentioned, bring dishonor
To this art. The day will end as it
Began, in hopelessness, now black,
Not gray, and I will shiver in my tent,
Disgruntled, but convinced that this
Is where I ought to be.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 76 times
Written on 2017-04-26 at 01:03

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