The sea was once an idea –
a life in time-lapse. Feelings
held captive others I couldn’t
bypass. My face was let go
of long ago. Lied as a kid -
runaway imagination.
The places I’ve lived would
lead some to defenestration
Each instance of laughter was
a mask half brocade, half satin.
I remain nomadic immersed in
abbreviation.
Likely dying dozens of ways
if not for fate’s intervention.
Used tallies to mark time. Molars
Nearly flattened. It so happened
I lied awake - legions within wear
their names like diadems.
The muse found me on the psych
ward floor. Pressed record –
voice didn’t match appearance.
Glimpses of Leviathan in each
adherence. The Finals played in
the day room.
The deluge arrived before “When
The Sun Hits” and “Flume”. Refused
to pursue senses beyond what
pleasure demanded. Disbanded
allegorical caves beyond measure.
Got high in lemons.
Scaffolds clung to tall buildings.
Couldn’t quell the sense of
innocence amid cathedral bells.
Thought of Ovid on the coast
of Tomis: what would he posit
about our current spell?
I sat on the shore until you
implored me to come to you.
Glimpsed cypresses behind
your irises. Breaking waves
mirror pillars - sudden arcs
festooned.
-- J.L. Moultrie is a Detroiter and multi-genre writer who communicates his craft through words. He hasn't been the same since encountering Patti Smith, Sylvia Plath & Hart Crane. He considers himself a modern, abstract imagist.