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.
Golden Twilight
sinks into the final gasp,
a flame too bright for any sight,
fades not in thunder, but a rasp.
–
Ink etches yet into the sketch
no more the streets,
long shadows stretch,
fading color, sinking beats.
* My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well– they’re a skilled bunch of poets, looking to form a community and support one another. Enjoy!
The Waking Den 