It's been a long time since shipwreck,
and having learned to observe
I crawl up
on gray days and black nights
that last lifetimes, it seems,
broken only by mini-vacation
as a path I trod for survival
in shores of wooded forest.
I'm learning to observe
gratefulness for days
As I could have easily
lost life at sea
Though now partly disfigured,
I must plan my life again,
and build myths of success
to dream up life worth living
or again I'll be drifting
without anchor or sail,
landlocked or not.
I crawl up
on engine parts
and try again
to assemble power
from the four twigs, thimble,
and bits of coconut shell
but it won't turn over
no matter how much
lemon juice is in resevoir.
And, I thought this time for sure,
I even added vodka.
Gray days and black nights
generate little spark
on panels out back
though enough for some TV sometimes
and lights to watch Gilligans Isle
Man, those guys had it rough.
Lasting lifetimes
our lives give us
opportunities
to pick and choose
all the best things
and avoid the worst,
But there's somekind
of design flaw
in a coconut engine.
Mini-vacations to break monotony
come in many ways
Sometimes I'll soak in the bay
or pretend I'm fishing
I like visiting friends
and exploring new woods
Once I flew to Chicago
and drank over the bridge
But mainly, I'll read
and fill my head
with visions of reality
Paths I trod
are well worn
It's been 16 years now
and people are calling me friend.
Though some would expect of me
to go back on high seas
cause they don't see
my crooked vision
or addled hearing
from the explosion,
Just some scars on forearms
and sun-burnt nose.
But yet my ears ring eternal
in deep silence
Though it too comes and goes
like the pains I feel.
Shores of wooded forest
supply all kinds of materials
But Metal
on this isthmus of atoll.
So I turn my mind
to power through coconut oil
which runs engines sometimes
but nothing to power a boat
And where would I go?
It's not like opportunity
is advertised on islands
where cannabilism is prevalent.
Maybe someplace sunny
to spend my days.
So I can watch Gilligans Isle?
The clouds are now in my eyes,
and I'm paranoid they're going to eat me
in mutiny, again.
A break finally in clouds
dreams up life worth living
and assembles power
on panels out back.
Through my coconut engine
I may visit friends
but going back on high seas
on an engine that sometimes runs
is lunacy.