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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