Eight Stone Three, Version 2

Suicide death of a gay man.

————

I sketched your face in

the midst of a bleached sky;

touching the cool wet sands

barefoot and loaded tonight.

A great inhale lights the pipe

wait for the rising harvest moon;

ballerinas twirl on the sea wall

faces expressionless; eyes cold.

I feel my raspy breath drift away

in foggy wispy ocean tendrils;

guided by ghosts of privateers

their rapiers hang off leather belts.

Swale grass on sand dunes quiver

untied laces fly about in the wind;

First, you're here; then gone away;

you’re bright; then dull and dying.

The fading gray light disappearing,

as tears are lost in the falling rain;

wretched days full of fears are here

as I'm sinking into the charcoal sketch.

A note left in crayon sits upon the dash;

justification is simply a lost wasted life.

Emerge from the closet onto the pillory;

Eight stone three, melts into the sea.

By Ken Allan Dronsfield

From: United States

Website: https://arevenantpoet.wordpress.com/

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