letter to a faucet i found once

Dear Faucet,
its been quite some time since I found you
beneath towers of coiled wire
behind cobwebs and locked doors rotting off the hinges.
Its been quite more time since you had a purpose,
since liquid fell through your manicured Fibonacci lips.
on that dusty barn floor, what was it like?
the lighting was minimal at best
but i could taste quiet in the air
just as sure as i could smell the carcass
in the dilapidated boat shed
those sun bleached life preservers hold nothing, but that stench
crawling through the lilly-pads
plucking lotus flowers compensated though
they could freshen any carrion or barn floor
I could even put one in you, you could be art
not to say you never were, but intentionally, not mechanically
buddhisim is about the flow of energy anyway
to some minute degree at least
behind the hand made baskets filled with dusty mason jars
there could be anything
each one of those walls hid something
and the boarded up staircase only resurfaces memories
of a locked off world, in a farm house
slaves clutching to silence in the shadows
longing for anything, like they are, bland fetishists
but I swear I am not bitter, though I swore never to swear again
when I lit the paper with a candle
staring at the underside of an over pass
it felt original, but that too was transparent, in the end
but you, you are original, you are free
undisturbed by nothing more than
the small piles of dust gathered in the wrinkles of your face
a spider occasionally, but they leave you alone
they are more concerned with making webs between the windows
I regret leaving you behind, but I had to
for you were better off there
my love did not end, it can not, but
your liberty shall remain as well
I found another fibbonaci reference though, on the
other side of the swamp
in the form of a shell, next to a german lighter
I likened to put it on a string, but that too was
lost to impermanence
as was the skeleton of a devoured oak leaf
but I can remember scaling the trees entwined
just above the marshy ground, centimeters from disappearing
but my wings have yet to dry, I’ll leave them in the sun
next to the green and purple dragonfly, and lead paint crumbs
I wish dearly I had more to say, and I’m sure you don’t
you can see beyond the frivolity of intentional sound
you are subjugate to the universe, yet content
somewhere in my mind, there is that stillness
I have yet to hold it though, bitter by design
though you have taught me so much, by just catching my eye
and I’ll hold tightly, the next faucet I find.
With Love,

letter to a faucet i found once


Lackawaxen, United States

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