Harbored Ports

Buoys float on blue-green brine
In flares of flaking chicory reds
On alloys of rusted parts
As chains act as anchors nearby
Harbored ports, littered with
Boats along the coast.

Oils discolour with toxicity
As its poisons fill up gills
Of the poor little fishies
In delirious quantities
In noxious dreary knolls.

Booms contain whilst skimmers collect;
Missing forgotten ambiguities
Of misconceptions in disbelief.

Spirit Mantles

Spirit sucking mantles
Are stored in watery graves;
Where sprites are saved
From suckling mentals,
Where excreted secrets lay
Further than coastal manta rays,
So should it remain.

Alas,
A ghoul passes
Plucking one from
The watery depths
Past the cape.

The mantle is worn,
Ripped and shredded,
As its fringes bled,
While the ghoul
Knowingly traced
Ways to race away
From impunity’s pleas,
While it limply drapes
Its outlines,
Ordained.

-Sabs-

You Don’t Know

“What is wrong with you,
You are supposed to
Be focusing on projects.”

“I found passion.”

“You’ve allowed yourself
To be consumed
By something weaker,
Obsession.”

“Maybe.”

“What is it?
Is it an apparition?”

“…”

“You don’t even know.
A fucking fabrication.
You don’t even know.”

“I know.
Its depth took over me,
There was a world to see.
The plans we made
Ripped in ultramarine
Sheets of an aberration.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

“Place that drive
In other things
Of importance.”

“The sea is important.”

“Not when its existence
Is a question.”

“It exists.
Its the creatures
It harbors
I can’t discern.”

“Being uncertain is a part of life.”

“But I need to know.”

“You don’t.”

-Sabs-