Poetry | Journal

Toss me back into the rose water.
I want to float down the river
on my back, wrapped in garlands
of chartreuse and conifer cone
like a viking’s cuirass hand fashioned from the forrest
to embrace the body, shelter the shoulder sewn heart;
mine rocks in tune with the riverbank lapping,
my bones can feel the rudder vibrations pulling
trade winds are tugging these sails North West
while I’m strung out on Jack, telling all of my Kates,
I’m no longer a man of science
give me faith
give me fate
give me the city where my feet move
like cherry blossoms in April winds
and David Bowie takes my hand,
dancing up the sidewalk
every mile until I’m in
the home I hand fashioned,
from roses and thorns.
It’s where I belong.