living proof that art is fluid in form
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a poetry anthology written in fruit juice and cheap
ink
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in loving memory of the past
@timespieces
copyright 2018
deep in the billows of the briny sea the flux and wane of the currents seemingly breath silvery beads glimmer on the shifting surface swirling and fleeing like glittering thieves but beneath it churns hundred-year-old ghosts stories only spoken upon the lips of sailors of so many oceans fingers grimy with salt and sores and fish guts he shushes those who listen finger to mouth, taste on the tongue a grinning row of yellow secrets
heed me young ones, i don't tell tall tales the creatures that reside on the ocean's floor are best left where the sun can't reveal their horrid scales
he turns toward the expanse of frothing anger on the horizon, it does dance it reflects off of the deep muck of his eyes somewhere in there a creature breathes and no one's ever seen it alive
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