Doseone Nomanisisland
So much for beating your indoor chest.
Stood predator star.
Never picked,
Only placed,
Before doors.
Do you not know what you poet?
Holding your breath,
Arms akimbo.
Stood base thinking in flames of yourself
At the man-gates to fare Switzerland's brink.
Would you fancy, say, going solo forever instead?
Setting sail for good on a standard, stranded, man-crafted raft
Equipped with nothing, save two hundred Euros,
And the hypocrite inside you.
Lost
When life is all but perfect.
Taking the longest cut across wide open ocean possible.
Razor-free and limeless
On a never-again-bent-to-kiss-land tour.
And, if things go well,
You might harvest plankton from the rotted raft's rope for your supper.
And, for your fluids,
Take twice from yourself.
A handful of urine:
Sip, [?], spit.
What else?
In shark-free waters,
You could paddle with your hands and feet for fun,
Tipping her over if a rescue plane coasts overhead.
And at night:
Feel for the moon making moves,
Forcing form on your un-mastered and visible quarter mile of ocean.
And by day:
On your back watching birds.
Appear and then dissolve in mid-migraine.
Still looping in that starring role they played in what's our early evolution.
And there you are.
Sprawled out below them.
Fast forgetting tenth grade physics.
Floating on a few killed trees tied close together.
Meanwhile, high up above you,
Beyond two floors of sky
And another five of innermost outer space,
Hang awake Darwin's bones
Wheeled on a hook
To the edge of a cumulus cloud
Peering down.
Just eating you up
And loving your nature to death.
And there you'll be
Laying prostrate,
Chipping salt from your lips
With starvation-soft teeth.
Sprawled out in the way of the sun.
