I water up—the sails across oceans, the feeling of a
man living; tell me it was cruel, speak forgiveness, tell me it was all
sacrificed. Looking like damages, sprung from the bottle, asking God for
clarity. The pain it was raw, the asking is cruel, one might, one will, one is
hesitant. I’ve eaten mistakes, I crossed oceans, right here in the city town;
the grave as a friend, the darkness as a guide, so enclosed in miseries. Let
music sing those pains, let cleats dig into souls, let life return its message.
So teased for justice, so baptized by foolishness, never a reality unto this
reality. To know it isn’t my claim, more a calamity, it started where it wouldn’t
end. The man in his mirror, what a drag, to fret a keel, feeling imbalanced,
laughing and smiling, behind the tears. No one fathoms the face, no one looks
to hear the silence, no one knows he made an error—the curse of the features,
the feathers of the night, so spliced, so sliced, and everyone is back stage.
