Out There.

Out there,
there’s no fear
I steer far beyond
the burning fire song
that sings
and screams from
each heave of my lungs
until the burn is gone
and my face is numb
when I come up
and I can’t see anyone
out there,
there’s no horizon
no lingering tension
I can do whatever
the moment says
I need to get done
there in the blue
there’s no such thing
as “me and you”
or any of the pain
attached onto
branded into
the guilt and shame
can’t quite get through
the protective layer
of my trusty wet-suit
out there – blue and pure
in the saline fathoms
of my darkest despair,
a glimpse of what’s free
nothing’s promised
in sheer mockery
nothing’s expected
either by or from me
out there, anywhere
this one buzz in my ear
tows alongside
remains ever-clear
my inbound ride
will forever be
the hardest part
of “Out There” for me.

Stronghold.

Abounds a spin-cycle to scale as far as I see,
the visual assail of an everyday catastrophe…

tumbling breakers that beat my sorry ass mercilessly,
undertakers in numbers washing out from the beach…

a beautiful thing is the foreseen inevitability,
of resigning in mind to the body’s pending battering…

the best lessons in Life await us out past the swells,
a beach bum intuition that I’ve come to trust well…

with each time that I have wakened on a solitary beach,
happy as Hell to finally have solid ground under my feet…

every time these eyes of mine have peeled open to see,
surprised to find by my side, a creature twice the size of me…

I’ll tell you my friend; it lacks any ease of “inland”,
it chews you, and spits you – and swallows you, then…

let me say also, that it’s not a pumped-up play of show,
to hear the old-school talk the dangers of riding out “solo”…

I’d dare say that the ocean is a secret untold,
even to beach bums raised up on in her stronghold.

Out There.

Out there,
there’s no fear
I steer far beyond
the burning fire song
that sings
and screams from
each heave of my lungs
until the burn is gone
and my face is numb
when I come up
and I can’t see anyone
out there,
there’s no horizon
no lingering tension
I can do whatever
the moment says
I need to get done
there in the blue
there’s no such thing
as “me and you”
or any of the pain
attached onto
branded into
the guilt and shame
can’t get through
my good ol’ wetsuit
out there – anywhere
in the deep waters
of my darkest despair,
there is no solidity
nothing’s promised
in vain to me
nothing can be expected
either from or by
outside the knowledge of mine
that my ride in won’t be free.

Stronghold.

Abounds a spin-cycle-esque ocean beneath me,
an aquatic tornado stripping sand up from the deeps…

tumbling breakers that beat my sorry ass mercilessly,
undertakers in numbers washing out from the beach…

a beautiful thing is the foreseen inevitability,
of resigning in mind to the body’s battering…

the best lessons in Life await us out past the swells,
a beach bum notion that I’ve come to trust well…

with every time I’ve awakened confused on a beach,
just happy as Hell to have solid ground under feet…

and every time I opened these eyes of mine to see,
to be taken by surprise by a creature twice the size of me…

I’ll tell you my friend; it lacks any ease of “inland”,
it chews you, and spits you – and swallows you, then…

let me tell you also that it’s no dramatically worded show,
to hear the revered explain the dangers of riding out “solo”…

I’d dare say that the ocean is a secret untold,
even to beach bums raised up on in her stronghold.