Out Of Water
Never knew a melody where he could rest.
Always moved along -
a bridge between the verses of a song.
And every chorus that will rise above drives him farther south
‘til even grace notes struggle in his mouth.
There’s a drunk out of whiskey, a sick man out of time.
So why would you even bother with a fish out of water?
Looking for a womb where he could lay his head,
a place that he could call
his very own ceiling and a wall.
You’d think the ocean might have been a better home.
Confided once in me
he never really did well in the sea.
You’ve seen him on the lettered streets of Anytown
borrowing its books,
reading faces, thumbing through their looks.
You’ve come face to face with this face once before -
the time it held your eye
and proposed to the mirror that it lie.
© Audsongs 2014