dead ocean air

stream of consciousness for the dead

cavernous caves
of coreander copper
coalescing carefully
to coal filled decanters

Climbing a quill for all of time
trying to drip out the perfect line
quietly quivering, quickly shivering
laying still in the ink, while I think

You're not beautiful
You are two lines in the sand
An old, shaking hand
Precisionless piles of dust
Unnerved unevenness
And when it's hot outside your face melts into everything
And when it's dark outside, I can see every hard pocked line
That has ever refused to smile
But you got old anyways.