Revolution 179

when nature holds her breath
the skins upon the mast fall flaccid,
their tapestries' richness untold -
words withheld to punish
her unshared whispers.

Nothing given, nothing shared.

homicidal waves shore simple rafts
unprepared to leave an ordered existence,
unprepared to float away as driftwood.
how can one hold onto herself
without trunks beside to bestow meaning?

Mutability of form veils similitude of locomotion.

you left your oars in a boathouse on the mainland;
mine were lost along the way
along with my rebellious spirit.
scarlet flames fizzled as they fell overboard,
fiery fingers never fated to reach the Red blaze.

My revolution became intangible at 179 degrees.

i smuggled a glowing ember onto an imagined isle.
i cannot bring myself to extinguish its life.
it promises a future laden with violence and heartache,
whose progression i should halt with vigor
but must i discard the scraps of memory?

Cookie-cutter philosophy leaves the territory outside its borders unexplored.

were we to smash doughy remnants together
would they remember having been divided
and focus on differences?
or would they recognize their similarities
and acquiesce to homogeneity?

Rhetorical questions cultivate algebraic wastelands.

we stand on separate strips of land
divided by azure complications.
nature's lifeblood invigorates the division,
sharpening the taste of treachery.
i savor the wrongness.