the me in gasoline

the me in gasoline on water is a rainbow
of potential sliding around, skimming the tops, spreading then
unraveling with every
exhale of the Bay
shape shifting like a scream
my perplexed smirk distorted then tortured
and mad in the only possible way

the slick bird above me
purple to orange to blue to barely discernible shine –   
oh shine on, you gull, shine on
free from such thin and colorful prisons as this.

the re-reading of The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock

wrote a rough rough sketch of this several years ago, just after college i guess. revised slightly here today. here’s a link to the poem, one of my all-time favorites:

the re-reading of The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock

the silence after
roars like a night train
it shakes the house so
that Eliot and I
curled in our green tea
must turn twice, and again

i sense your
presence absent
who to guess that nothing
could be so heavy to move
the weight of all that air
blowing precarious

to and fro, to and fro