The dark den of the bay

 the bay seemed empty vast
subtropical thickleafed trees hugged the water
No moon to light up the surface
Sky at its last tone into full darkness

worried eyes
he let his hair grow long and low
Boats and ships avoided it
burning up in daylight
daylight a decade ago

red ashamed face
looking up questionung the sky where the moon was
Like the birthday boy minus his guests
waves came in just to float those dead leaves up to the shore

Instead of washing up on the narrow powdery sanded margins
they locked into the remaining loose leaves
dragging them in like desperate mother's their children
 at a black friday liquidation

they were his hands and his mind
looking to please and grasp as many friends as possible
dirty rusty leaves brined up real nice in the dark empty depths
of a moonless bay these leaves scraping against the coral of envy

the world just a trillion images for a voyeur who longs to reflect months on each
Yet wants to see each one of those trillion hungrily anticipating the next ones
unable to pull his cave water gaze from the first million
Just to feel the first brushstrokes of death appearing in his own portrait.

each image a rusty briney leaf, multicolored through sickness not seasons
through envy and dead rainbows of a once overvigourous youth
springing up new fountains of envy severed arteries of nostalgic pangs
spraying out into the inky black bay