(sometimes, in the twilight of my sleep, i hear waves lapping against my balcony. and i swim down my hall, drifting from room to room. beautiful blue green sunlight filters through the blinds and dances among the floating shoes and software and photographs that litter the seabed inside my head.
my lunasea is so silent. no beeps or pings. no sonar. no satelittes searching. it is then that i realize, springtime is inside me. inside this sea. and i know its time to sow. time to grow. and so i quietly write these seeds and plant them in the garden.
in the shade of this life that i have made. or unmade, unlaid and yet unbetrayed. outside, the empire burns. the whirlpool sings its ambulance siren song and i resist. happy to swim my world. unfurled. karma is a funny thing. i no longer laugh in the face of god. i kiss, full on frontal liplock.
loose lips sink ships and i wait on the sea bed, inside my head, for the next delivery. a beautiful blue green blueprint spread before me. like a book i will never read, only live.)