Therapeutic Poetry – #(Losing count)

Drift[glass]

You are pulling
Upwards,
snaking your body through clouded water.
Sucking through a tube
of empty Chapstick
waiting for the pop at the end
in your ears,
as you slide down the highway exit ramp,
glittering metal bits of sunlight slinking past you.
Break the meniscus with your throat.
The coughing rolls you over the surface.
You fight to quiet the gut of the bursting
tadpoles within your lungs.
Your muscles numbly release enough to become
a hollow chess piece dipping
and washing in with the sea glass.
Knees on the reef of small, spiny rocks
wrenching against your muscles
as the sun pools on you bowing
like a cow on the beach.
God is smoothing you out,
bending your bones to mimic a bird
right alongside the numb green glass
that can’t decide what it reflects
as the light siphons into the sea.

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