Hokusai

The freshman…
She snorkels through a cavern of a thousand little lighters
Blouses laced around her shaved ice legs – from what I could imagine, then
Has she cried under the weight of the old man’s iron lung?
Or spun synthetic sleep under the shadow of a shallow sink
Well, it’s not for me to know
I didn’t know her very well…
For nineteen days our icicles laced
And one morning melted next to the Cabriolet
I guess that’s why they call it a graduation
What was sure to be my May funeral
Well, she stood in its way – iron ships, flotsam, jetsam, and waves…
Fall, and fall, does the Prussian blue curtain
And you sat so supersaturated…
Let’s kiss; we shouldn’t talk about the storm like this