Neptune stirs my sea
The blood of my fingertips warms
and my feet begin to struggle
The water renders my bones mellow
and my skin to rapid little shakes
Slowly, reeling my head into oblivion
The sea is no waiting room
and Neptune is not a welcoming host
I stand attacked, waiting for my ship
But- the waves come in large blows
and in threads of soft water leave
and Neptune, a sight of terrible beauty
Later, the evening crow will look for me
and my bed will long for my dreams
The sea is calling me and I must answer
-Funny thing with poems:
they're like paintings, they reveal the subconscious.
super perfundo!
