Poetry

Bland

Bland like the after taste of chalk
Is my mood as I walk
By and isle
For a while

And I stop
And decide to hop
On a boat, a small yacht

To take me across
This pristine crystal clear mirror-like body of water
Almost to small to be called a lake

As I ride the movement of this hatch through this fluid
Disrupts the surface
So much a tsunami of sorts
Seems to form all with out the aid of the moon
There is no moon

I realize this in retrospect

This tsunami crashes upon itself laughing sort of at its own demise in a jovial way
Like the way one laughs after completely embarrassing ones self
Jovial but embarrassed laughter
And the wind stops

Was there ever wind?

Either way it seems to have stopped
And I reach the isle
The isle inhabited only by butterflies
How cute!
How typical!
How sugary sappy!

I am disgusted and I puke
Out of nervousness and disappointment

As I am hunched over
The equilibrium I have grown so used to having
Fails me
And I fall to the sand so ungraceful so unlike myself

Unlike myself

I lie in the sand and laugh
Jovial, but embarrassed
Jovial, but embarrassed laughter
Escapes my mouth
As I taste the sand that has entered
I look up and realize there is no moon

The wind stops

And I ask my self was there ever wind?
And I notice that on this isle
In the pristine crystal clear mirror like body of water
Almost to small to be a lake

That the sand is bland
Bland like the after taste of chalk
When it should be salty
Especially so close to the shore.

Copyright 2007 Maiku