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drown

I In heavy weather a long winding pavement, searching out of the never detached and self destruct the hollow confessor, lonesome and pressure, stumbles through twisted streets, mumbles under billboards screaming pleasure, all along tempting dreams and schemes of leisure and throbbing beats, repeating whatever to feel alive, tethered to neon signs. Watercolor endeavor dissolving in rain, lines from above flush altogether no ones love down the drain. II A walking void which pulls the buildings makes them wobble and pushes people up to the sky, they all fall back as Drops in puddles to rings of bubbles. Heavy rain. Pacing in vain pacing around down and up and down, urging into the bars, into the pubs, into the clubs, stranger among strangers, John and Jane Does. Boredom was all there was, to see, to be at least. Or was it? Where was he and who? Was he at all or just screwed?

In the midst of his bewilderment, trapped in creased tales of the good life plot, almost locked up and lost in thoughts, a whimsical thread pops up in this tissue of oughts and naughts. In the midst of his bewilderment, lunacy summoned, a filament, all of a sudden. In this very moment as he was the least She came in, a difference. III Captivated he was, totally there overwhelmingly yeah, this moment of magic, someone out there.

Calm spread, harm fled, disarmed yet. Bright, beautiful and free as one should be, as it used to be. Like woke stoked soaked in hope, he saw whole.

Didn’t he know her from somewhere? Hasn’t he seen her before? There was something so familiar but lost, something he gave up looking for.

Sound faint through haze. A Shore between waves. Years he fought against the tide reached out for a safe side, but as he got excited the ocean rises and water buries the coast.

First he sought her for quite a while until he realised that he was lost all alone.

Drown. ___ © Marcus Frost, April 2022

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