Nineteen Is Leaving

Nineteen is leaving
it is a blue thing
a toxic sea
that for nearly a year
Rising in me
now drips
from fingere tips
into buckets

morning buckets
dinner buckets
buckets at the bedside
buckets I have too much pride
To ask a friend to tend
when I am gone and wandering
in dreams

bad dreams
with arms that hang off beds
Cloudbursts pour from finger tips
and finally near
the last remains of monsoon rains
they clear

I dream that bucket brim and bail
form an Archipelago
crescent islands that are green
from all the recent rain they’ve seen
The color of the sea
with Water flat as mirror glass
is a Pale blue indigo

And every star,
the heavens mapped so clearly there
I try, but can’t resist the urge
to fly in that reflected sky
and merge with dark drowning water

When I wake I am pure
No violations left,
in here
no lingering despair
every isn’t, that lingered- now gone
every is -that isn’t true
flushed through

The sea in me
The berry blue refractory
Lens of liars
Has drained away
And left the lies without disguise
awkward as naked strangers

Nineteen is gone
each fingers dusty hole
dry and black as a moths wing
the wet echo of thumping
no longer heard
The poor molested boy inside
That Struggled with the rising tide
has drown

A man of twenty born today
Has found two hands
Floating in a bay
And stitched them to his arms
Contending that
Together they might better stand
a chance to make it back to land

Once there and standing
looking at the skies
through astigmatic eyes
at the dazzling white
cross hairs of stars
the red crosshairs of mars
and beyond the sky

so far above it
the dimensions of it can’t be clear
Some people sell the destiny they own
for something they can have today
whether it’s an equal ride
more or less as dignified
they will never know
not reaching in the sky for what is theirs

but reaching down to the damp reflections of
the sky to get their remuneration
and applause
for suffering
the stitches and the gauze
the surgeons knife
for the praise for false perfection
is there in the celestial veneer
that dedication to the heavens
that water can wear

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Michael Brisdon Bornn

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If you don't stay in the moment, what kind of a past will the future hold?
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