Tilting Decks

The year I became seasick I lived in a bungalow on the edge of a wilderness moor. The sky and land grappled together for supremacy of my soul, Inner dogs whined, my eyes were portholes where cats watched the turbulent dance of garbled mind waves. I had to leave a wife, but knew I could not swim, couldn't drown, nor float. I stumbled across high wind-woven gorse, ghosts crying through my hair. in the end, the crashing sound of breakers smashing against cliffs made me vomit, I staggered choking still into a pathless night. A cloud garden had to wither and bloom, toes had to learn to grip ever shifting sands. Time whittles, it sharpens the bones of your throat until you can consume the stale and the fresh, while riding a moon crazed, rollicking rocking-horse.