Journal Poem (Sad)

I drive to the sea. 

Thinking of John Berryman, 
Jeff Buckley, Virginia Woolf. 
What is it about water?

Today has wrung 

everything 

out of me.

The sea is surreal 

blue - unbroken by 

houses and roads.

In summer, I only 

have a plastic sea breeze

blowing in through the air-cooler

and the constant rush 

of cars in streets 

race like waves 

to home shores. 

At night when I can't sleep, 

white horses pant 

at the edge of 

beaches and sunsets.

But in suburbia,

I have to make do 

with low volume radio static, 

the electric sound of ocean wash.

Today I'm here, 

soothed with the ease 

of a blue valium on

my eye's tongue.