Ink that Becomes Disappearing Calligraphic Letters

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Why waves are so distraught that they commit

White suicides survives as mystery.

What makes them angry as they hit the spit

Of postcard beauty has no history

In psychotherapy.  Their water foams froths

As faults of health despite the sweetness of

The scene.  They die like Kamikaze moths

In worship of the emperor above

Them in their grave-eyed view.  Is love the salt

(Or lack of prisms?) bringing on male wild

Annihilation in their neat gestalt

Of suicidality?  Why so mild?

  They crash against the battleship-like cliff

    And disappear, each one an anaglyph.

©  Phillip Whidden