Drifting Away from Home.

Like a spar lost on the waves.
Edges cutting deep patterns in salt-laced skin.

thirty days at sea,
scaring off the seagulls and clinging tight to life,

The shark has been circling since the third day now.

He wants to pick a fight, but he's afraid to do it on my terms, he knows he just might lose.

He's been letting the weather get the better of me,
but one storm behind, another on the calendar ain't much for fright effect.

I've been feeding him the seagulls that come too close. Lacing each one with a little more cyanide.

Perhaps I'll show that shark a thing or two yet.

Don't fuck with a man at sea.

Sunday, November 20, 2005


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