Reflections of a Sea Lion

I am reminiscent of decisions and criticisms that I've faced,
and am open to what the future holds
in its dead-lock grip of concrete hands.

Because, what more can you do when your words fly like birds,
when your eyes open wide,
and your brain turns to pie.

The mushy feelings and sugary taste.

The reckless lovers who feel one another’s embrace
and pin each other to squalid walls.
Like butterflies hanging in a collection of endless vacant halls,
that are ready, no, waiting, to be destroyed.

Because after all of this,
things fall apart.
But will that collapse of time and space be enough to erase all that we have done,
all that we've seen,
all that we've touched,
and all that we still continue to face.

The faces of the youth submit
while the faces of the old permit.
I hate the way that hate can make you hate the things you love.
The way that regret seeps in when you give up, and end things with a shrug.
The exasperated faces of well-worn places crumble as they choke,
on broken words and clever stories from graves with unknown bones.
The origins that they misplaced,
the foreign kin we should embrace
A sea-lion laugh,
The final trick,
A simple wish,

Just one slimy fish.