The Pier

They stood at the end of the pier with their back to the land. The trade winds blew in off the water against them. A heaviness on him still. Moments of peace and clarity happen for sure, but the weight remains. He’ll go on, doggedly so, but right now, the tantalizing conflict between the synoptic allure of the descending dusk over the water, or the  long walk back down the short pier, is both more than he can handle and the answer to it all, in one fleeting moment.

 

The Spinner

You’re like a mist, a fog, a haze, a plague

Wallower, follower, spinner of your own sad tale

Like a viscous web, trapping us all in a bad dream

Part parody, perpetual melodrama

Glomming, clinging, slinging more, more of all the same

The dying beach…

It’s the churn of the conscious mind

It’s the weight of deceit

It’s misguided venom

It’s heartbreak and breakdown

Truth, the dying beach always calling you