Attach an identity to a boat and all together we are lonely looking for the next thrill.
Hub Cap Moon
Inside a chrome shell hides a heart of spinning metal.
Glowing coils ignite and reduce a fossil to carbon farting out the soot of unprocessed youth.
Roll an injector in blackened fingers, clear the mind in an observation pure as a fowled plug.
Still passions impede.
Haunted and chased, temporary as a clutch look up at a hub cap moon and try.
Blunt and charmless
P da P
The Sisters
The sisters keep bottles of scorpions in the galley
Lubricate walking planks
Untie knots
And forget everything
The sisters wait
They cling to rocks deep in the muck to avoid the sun
They keep lost anchors
And laugh at the trouble they cause
The sisters smell musty like abandon buildings
Rot and splinter revered like some dusty treasure
An animal corps
Neither rare or valuable
The sisters live in reckless folly and empty ceremonies
Feel the putrefied guts
Breathe the foul air
An endless adolescence
The sisters eluded me, “Slippery eels”
Wormy livered with rotten esophagus
They shine their lights on some and they are sure that they can fly
So they do