March 5th, 2019
Untitled, summer 2017
Brain broken, wracked and wrecked by irony,
Searching for sweet sincerity I think
Upon past purities, then swiftly sink
Into despair—dead air—loathing this me
Who loves too much of my iniquity.
Thus find my feet fast tread here to this brink
Where we would set aside our bloody ink
And pen, and plunge in solipsism’s sea.
This must be but grace should intervening strike
Me back where I stand to fall, till kneeling down,
Gasping air I clasp my hands damp with spray,
As waves wash, crush, and crash against the dike,
Clamoring and clawing at me to drown.
So salty-drenched by tears and sea, I pray.