Along the Whirlpool’s Edge

I kiss turquoise sea
embrace eyes of sunshine
brand midnight with my sin
exhale the still of winter's breath
trace  snowflakes with my fingertips
even tame the floods that follow
the thick cold mud of a river's crash

for words.
for thoughts and wisps of me
like a blind zealot in a butcher's shop
smelling the hurricane of red meat

I bare my teeth at bilious pools
where crabs skitter sideways along spring
I howl where the dank stench of true love presses
the razor's edge of sea breeze to my throat

I scour the filth from the rocks and sand
with the rough grit of March's moonbeams
and the prayer for (please-dear-God) hemlock
yet, even bitter death is only there

for words
for thoughts and wisps of we
like a constant pulse of disaster in the night
and the blessing of eternal angry solitude

where I stand dreams are the mirror of despair.
what I see is the honest lie of tear-light
as rainbows fade to every shade of gray
along my cracked smile.

Oh yes, this tide is good,
This storm is mine.

Wail banshee. Wail.