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Gars as Big as Boats, Blood in the Mud.


With eyes like 

Cameras
Spitting shuttering
Closing capturing 
Moments
Lost forever in 
Waves of murkish
Browns and blues-
While gars as big as boats
Beat on against the waves
Praying on fat bass
And blood 
Is
Inking-
Drowning 
My pen in currents 
Of summer sun
Etching it's warmth
Onto my 
Skin
Burning it
Lobster reds
And making hard to
Get out of
Bed.
 
A son
And 
A father
Paddle like Vikings
Stroke
Stroke
Stroke
Faster! We must beat the
Clouds promising
Heavy rains
Which with it
Brings torrents of 
Hunger
And I remember my
Brother
Eating nothing but bread
And mustard
Saying bologna 
Is nothing but
Horse cock.
I remember my love
Who is suffering
Alone
Somewhere
Trying so hard
To 
Make
It 
Just another day.
But as the shadows 
grow over
Ahead
I just pull my line
And toss it back
To the waves
Of brown and blood. 
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Jörmundgandr

What's there to know that can't be said through my poetry? I'm a romantic.

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