Salt is the taste
upon my liar’s tongue–
the bitter-bitter of indecision
where ebon seagulls will not fly.
Charon–I should say he waits–
but the feathers drift
to bubbled life
the world twisted overhead
no hands to the flotsam
brighter lips once cast.
They always said to take my jacket
yet still ensconced
I never saw the need,
never saw the waves that bore me down
into the drink, the horror
dive into the inky loan.
The Waking Den 
This is one of my favorites… I really like the Charon reverence;)
deception has a bitter taste as well..and much more..i like the images you use..
Once again I feel out of your league.
you got the grit today…nice charon ref…and the salt on the tongue…salt a preservative, but too much will surely burn you…
Salt on your tongue! Take your life jacket! Well done. K.
Deception and lies have a bitter taste…like the images Chris, nicely done!
Those ending lines are terrific, Chris–the play on lone, and drink, especially–and throughout a cadre of slightly misted metaphors requiring the brush of the reader’s mind to see the embossing. Liked it very much indeed.
A fascinating poem. Make sure it is the coolest jacket you own … 🙂
You without your Jacket, and me without my socks.