Misconceptionscurtains of faded laceangled by the breeze,muttering with soft breaths andeyeing those old, faded photographslike they were the present, even though they'reonly mourned by things like thepast; because theater masksand heavy velvet curtains; they arered and glamorous, even if they only cover updecay and rot. we all pretend, likeanimals to be the fittest and the youngest,lying through our teeth; even to ourselves. because it's theideas that count, and not thesilent whisperings we pretend not to hear
Ship in a Bottlei wouldbottle the sea and hang itlike an anchor about my neck;let it swing like a pendulumor a grey sea-waveand it would twist and turn androar like thunderin a sea-shell whisperbut to my earsaloneall the sinuous sea-monstersscratching and clawingat their glass prisonwriting a lyrical scriptfor my eyes to decipherthe dizzy weather patternsdance along the slim horizonbetween the crushing waves andunyielding glasstrying desperately to get a breathcracking, bellowing ice-burgsbare theircold, frozen fangsin a jagged, fearsome smilethat sends my mind spinningbut the drops are squeezing outone by