this is the release of worry

this is the shade green sea

a rothko of black blue and dill aquamarine

the shore of death

where the old world shines from the fluorescent moon

and wind blows the lights away in the palms

the sound of my voice is swallowed

I am the empty balconies on the ghostly hotel on the bone white moon

as I feel my father's worry

as I feel my father's look into the sea

the release of worry

and I am compelled to be out here

because I am looking at the shade green shores of death, I am blown back by its

chill roar, staring at the shrubs on a balcony some well hotel placed floor lamp lights 

up 

up 

up in the rectangular crook of heaven,

of a balcony above me

above they quiver like cherubic cowlicks giggling at my profundities, while I feel my father's responsibilities, and his tiredness, and his want and release of worry, of me, so that he may wake from the sleep of life and stand on the shores and hear the sounds of the shade green sea. 

inside with the tv to the right of me

and ancient texts just to the left of me

and the doors of curtains to the left of me

did I dare to go stare at the shade green sea?

I dared and produced pants that fit me

pants for awaking from sleeping, pants for standing on the shores of death, looking at the lights blow over the the palms and the pool aquamarine

brighter than the dull shade that made up that green

a howl grapples at my balcony before falling down into the stream of tiki walkway lights in the palm trees, down into the broomed fuax aztec floors of this ghost hotel.

a howl and a scream climbing over one another

but missing the ledge of my dream

I imagine the obscene, but gory details fail me - first flip flops, then caps attack what I see in my dream - from the place between the screen and the shade green sea. i see the person i must envy, not a single sweat in bead on head or armpit seam

a girl in the crook of his heaven's arm

up 

up

up in a rectangular chair on a beach

in caps and flops doing flips and screams

howling at the fluorescent moon obscene

and the wind making bone "smacks!"

"tacks!" and "peengs!"

on the unfinished ghostly balcony dream

I am the dangling arm of a deviant pvc

I yearn to integrate into this balcony

to stand in the winds of the dill aquamarine

and brine or sand withstand the eroding light

and the chill roars of that green and black blue seam

but I wanted to smack!

I wanted to tack!

I wanted to peeng!

I wanted to disturb the roar and the green

and the death beyond in that rothko shade green scheme

that separated the foamy flecks of wind

from the horizon where things begin and end

as I stood in sleeping pants on the ledge of a dream, listening to the sounds of the shade green sea.