MY LIQUIDITY

A bath’s edge, the rim of my thought bucket,
where I keenly place my two soles
to drown outside while I swim within.
Wrinkly digits, an abstract powerhouse
to hold atop them the dumbbell limbs
that carry my towering mind aloft.

And in between, a puffy skin-house,
a minor inconvenience of perpetual need,
the cage I chose with which to bundle this luggage of great worth;
should worth have more purpose than value;
should emptiness be filled with its own garden of delights.

And above all, a roaring ocean,
a great white-noise shark of bladed memories,
a diver’s tank of oxygen to place my tiny movies
in their own bubbly vaults –
orbs into which my after-dinner 3rd eye
spills like a secret to fill and stain like wine.

And as I watch my trailers, all wishy-washy
and streamed in tears,
one foot climbs to my chest to hug me
and the other takes our sole soul
and loofahs its way along my skin-pages spa
to make new of something old in a silent, pointed dance,
unpartnered, but inseparable from this ocean of pain.

As the numbness settles in,
eased not by the misty-arms of this warm aether,
wrapped as ghostly in my past pasts not present,
my balance remains, heartbeat synced,
– paused –
while my toppled zest for love depletes.

And in this swell, where fancies frolic
and frolicking fancies break my heart once more,
I would sooner fall into sharpened creatured smiles
than comfort a bossom’d knee
bent with expired hope.