Sea Lions - Poem by Braden Coucher
Half gone in memories of banjos and whiskey bottles
I flapped the wings of debauchery in the wind
of a sandy summer stained storm: There! I loved her,
She with feathery voice and small lovely head, I loved her
differently as snake to salamander.
I remember long banging, smashing nights,
in the streets when all the sound was just storm and
movements only a flickering, shape-shifting breeze.
I’d Torn into the poet’s craft like a drunken farmer into his disobedient wife,
I grabbed the words and mangled their sounds: speech
becoming clay becoming rock and then crumbling.
The whiskey and dripping eyes, back slapping cold of the river
taught me to love embrace: hugging the sopping love of my life,
lit only by the ferocious river’s moonlight reflection.
Each strand of her brown hair
held together by the weight of water
and we slipped and slid over one
in the ice-cold, ripping fire that is the river
‘til we were warm again.
So many too-short deafening nights I recall: we, a drunken slew
of lovers, poets, firecrackers. We: the downfallen candle-lit, dusty floor,
All stuck in a thwap of youth!
We rolled about one
sea-lions in liquor and laughter through what felt like
and ceased to be eternity.
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