Pang

Some nights, a strange pang becomes

and im left exhausted when it recedes,

It’s violent.

stirring the waves — where it aches shore,

a cold wind that fills a cavity,

and I wither on my bed,

Inexplicable it is, why?

and I become what it means to not,

Why — let me be, leave into the sea!!

the pang passes,

a mote of light is begotten,

there i lay, with an arched light seeping through thin shades,

I’m consumed no more, but tomorrow will there be more?

the rock I am,

I become part of shore and sea.

Unbecoming,

lifeless at the expense of debilitating waves.

If it returns tomorrow.

what if I am no more?

what would it mean, will the sea be met with salt?

and will my life be met with purpose?

another moment,

I feel caged by intermittent pangs,

like existential hiccups — absurdist motions

I am lost at bay, amid the dim lit NYC waters.

So take me away — where I am sea.

where pangs are washed away…