another breath of this chilly thin air
so familiar by now it seems to whistle

my cheap name

mocking from the brow of this ledge
that skirts the laughing surf
which gnashes at the rocks
in perfect analogous symmetry

my harlot body ground in the molars

two blue turtles weave in and out
between the kelp, whose gaseous pods
pull its protective vines sunward
shells and kelp working in consort

my ill-fitting jeans resist the urge to jump into freedom

this time was to be different
an awakening in my dusty heart
a hand to perfectly fit mine
the end of this shitty chain-letter

my grass was not as green

in these willowy strands of atmosphere
I step away from myself
I have the same body, all of my
fingers still do their unique dances

my being gave and gave at the office

I watch as this victorious butterfly
pulls away from her cocoon
lifting into the current
affection for shiny new toys

one more deep chilling draw
of my old acquaintance
I brace accordingly
I turn my key and drive

© Tom Watters  2/5/07