Rigormortis of the soul
Dejected along emotional failings
Tempered seas begin to roll
White knuckles; hold fast to the railings
Sorting feelings like a rolodex
Trampled yearning from Jaguar years
Unprepared for survival
Causing the most elaborate of your fears
Processing out foreign memories
But the answers just get in the way
Undisciplined in self-diagnosis
A sturdy smile in the face of the seaspray
Hanging with beach bums & bashful babes
Swimming in the surf on late Spring days
Colorful flavors poured gently over ice
Skin glowing after hours in the pleasant rays
I thought I saw a Sea Hag along the sand
Though she revealed herself to be a Siren
Coaxing & teasing me with her demure allure
Whispering that I might be a modern Lord Byron
Uncomfortable with compliments of any sort
I quietly pull out my pen to jot down an ode
Her eyes grow wide, then a smirk & a wink
Simultaneously my mind, heart & loins explode
“Even his fucking was binary, a sorting process by which certain practices could be tried and found wanting or approved and accorded benchmark status.”
Captain Q 