Was

by George J. Farrah

                         I was an  ocean of you

             once

                                  a store after dark

of winds brushing forests up

                   and flames for my dying bed

 the blisters of a witch doctor

                                beach wood eaten

    sun today

                   words  tomorrow

  just berries later

       and orderly huts

          where you will quickly

       enough damn up your care

                       and pretend to a gracious friend

through a hole

                in some old ballet

  that you’ve found

                                       broken red

                                             next to turn

                     and volunteer a thumb

      to keep all the water

      into a face                 or a gamble

                                                                  or a frontier

____________________

Farrah will appear in the AlteredScale.com issue three launch reading. (Click link for details.)

This poem appears in Farrah's upcoming book,  The Low Pouring Stars (Ravenna Press). Farrah is a visual artist and holds an MFA in writing from Bard College.