28 THOUGHTS.(Brief Article)(Poem)

 
   Barefoot, and wanting home. 
   Coffee, rain, umbrellas, grass damp as the sea, 
   shells washed in wind, 
   trees sad as limbs we befriend. 
   The white car, small as acceptance. 
   The ocean, grey as a breathing, flurried, stone. 
 
   It stands up to kill you, 
   You who stand, 
   ready to snap in the wind. 
   Wotya gonna do? 
   Put Moses and his curses into your hands? 
   Yeah. Plant wood in the dirt, 
   ask for water to be turned into sky? 
 
   It won't save you. 
 
   Inside, glass and radio are gawking. 
   A question rises. 
   It's gargled, 
   on the letter "G" 
   like "geeeeeeesss-uuuss". 
 
   Dry, 
 
   I state the argument: 
 
   This stem, what is it, paraffin-laced, on my throat, 
   made of words and burning uses? 
   Light? 
 
   Nah, this is tidal, lapping, cool as lake-water on a 
   bow. 
 
   It laces me with a green-blue wanting sinewed into 
   night. 
 
   But I splash for freedom, kill a ...