TRUTH Vigilante: Ew, Icky. How Gross?

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Past petulance from uninformed ignorance
grows
indifference,
calm, before I reach the undertow.
Can’t near yet like Buckley
until I realize purpose, reason
to walk toward blurry, hazy horizon.

Nothing full framed comes into focus.
But, you were in there, trapped in glass —
I imagine devious, devising
ways to self-destruct before any
(who weren’t witnessing)
could shackle with steel brakes.

A barreling locomotive (none helm a switcher),
I’m steering off track,
seek comfort of rust in deep, blue water.
Words I’ll strum, smooth
with hands flattening waves, tremors,
swirling that slow rises in me,
above my waist, awkward arms raise
like a ballerina unable to pirouette,
dance like a monkey (for you),
slowed by the thick, brackish, gummy bay bottom.

Heading out a mouth agape, widening
to an expanding horizon, dazzling,
dull gold washes infinite gems purging,
bleeding into black
outside cold-wooded, guarded lake where
this scaly monster finds safe home.

Scales grow thicker, shed my words
in songs forming, forgotten, drowned
by brisk gales at my back
when I want to perform
to the empty, driftwood populated beach,
at shore collecting fires, other passions burning —
now a gray, dusty lump, hardened by showers

In the wreckage preserved,
if any want memory back,
flames reflected, once mimicked a sky
before truer purpose was a new heat.
Wood depleted claimed all I lack, won’t,
can’t give back, as waves cool, lift
above my neck. Is it even tide yet?

Timing wrong, I could go down
to find Jeff’s secret world
like an already decayed fish,
past floating, since bloating, expansion
that soon sends me to gruesome dark,
underwater cave, to my troubadour.

3.24.23

Never done—but time is linear, a fool seeking secret portal, for the aliens who could come if I wasn’t so pathetic. My hand is numb from tap, tap, tapping my codes like riddles designed to seek random serendipity, answers in happenstance discovery.