I carried the ocean
vision blocked by dew drops
Water rolling, waving around me
blurry figures
frothy and mysterious
-Don’t go under, they said-
Chipped nails like chipped paint on an old house
repaint, but they’ll only chip again
And in the summer, my feet
pale slabs of ivory soap in a warm tub of green tea
-Don’t go under, they said-
Drops of color spread like ink in a glass jar
made artistically in a dorm room sink
I’ll soon run out of paint
chipped paint
because I use it deliriously in the middle of the night
on the leafy pages of a cheap journal
that holds my life together
(Don’t go under, they said)
And a box that carries everything and nothing
Open it:
it smells like glue
a sticky black hole in my life
it swallows me and spits me out again
and the ocean whirls around my waist
-Don’t go under, they said-
I did anyway.
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