soft silent whistle in the air
distorted reflection of your daily tempest tantrums
Trapped in the madhouse routine
I shall follow your eyes no more
once a castaway spider
caught on the liquid tension of that murky water pond
that you dare call love
an escapee I've become
Now distant winds have come to fill my sail
and the genoa, full like Dali’s plump breasts
roars and drifts me away, to the open ocean
While my cutter swifts by, like a bayonet
Yes, change has come
fast and unexpected
with it’s usual hurricane promptness
just in time
It has come to clean and wash away old wounds
old memories
your typhoon kisses I have forgotten
No more port of call
no more anchors
no more message in a bottle
Just this shipwrecked sailor
stranded in the freedom of the moment
living in the rage of life
once more.
