National Poetry Month Day 22: Somewhere Over the Rimbaud

Empty but somehow
Still decaying
Trying to escape the
Hounds
Distant
Braying
Through the stink of the sphere of rot where
The brown
Purples
Greying
Are indistinct, engineered to stop air
Burst forth like a blemish
Pour into the SS Folly
Set adrift on smooth blame
Making ripples of guilt
Until their volley
Shakes your vision
Until the stranger you'll soon find
Is a yellowed memory
A trusted swing, a recipe
Your mother never got right
Suddenly you feel permission

You drift into an orchard
Reaching,
Eating blueberries of lye
Makes you leak roots
From holes in your boots
Every single color, every single time
Every single year goes by
And at the end of time when
Passing everyone, strangers again
Leaking every single color, Then!
Then you hear what they all think
"That's the reason I can never quite sink!"