The wind is banging my front door with its
big, angry fist forged right out of the sea and strong enough to carry boats from coast
to coast, because I’ve always thought them too heavy to float. Whereas I am too light to sink. Not into slumbers
nor bathtubs nor transcendental hazes, I am simply here at sea level. Lousy perspective, sea level.
You can’t see what’s happening right under your nose,
Under your seaweed-green toes. I suppose I would choose the sky, then.
Birds eye then I’d fly then
I’d show them. All the coasts are moving closer and I know
that’s not what they say but trust me, neighbours are reaching out and one day hands will touch
and they’ll be pulled right over. Fine. But my island is mine, ours sometimes,
and people seem frantic, building rafts at the Atlantic but I told you:
They shouldn’t be able to float. That was a poem called sea legs which is in
a collection of poems called Sea Legs and Other Stories which I actually put on my big
cartel just a few days ago and you can download it as a pdf/ebook type format if you’d like
to and lots of you have already so thank you very much.
Please don’t feel obligated to but it’s 13 poems and I think only one of them is on youtube
so far. Well this one makes two. So it’s all kind of new things that I’ve written over
the past couple of years. And I hope you like them. goodbye.