To All Complexity

I can be funny mostly inadvertently
but when I force myself to try
I just hurt feelings.
The fishing boat is capsized
with a gaping hole around the bow
where seagulls soak in shade
and watch for crabs.
There are none and the empty beach
has given up completely in the hopes
to just become part of the ocean.
I’m lying really all I know is snow.
It piles like the things we can’t forget about
but push around to mold into the corners.
The best of us are children who play
around in it and make it into forts
and pseudo people in no hurry
to get anywhere at once.
I wish there was enough alcohol
to melt this whole entire season empty,
and of course there is, but we have better
things to use it for as always.
It’s really the same thing though isn’t?
We want to watch the complicated
fall at just the touch of something simple.
Like a blemish bursting bloody in the mirror.

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