Poetry – Seasick Bathing

The bathroom wall moves.
It ripples and sways
with the mournful, desolate
sound of the radio.

Ocean blues and greens
meant to calm
only inspire vertigo.
What are those things
I see? 
Leaves? Seashells?
Jealous sea foam?

I lay back,
releasing my grip
as the tub empties
and my consciousness
follows
circling slowly,
among the dirty water
before it all disappears
down the drain
together.

Poetry – Memory Collector

I collect memories,
or perhaps, more accurately,
they collect me. 

They've taken over the bed
and the bedroom.
They've wandered down the hall
to congregate in the guest room.
Still too crowded, some migrate
to the couch, the stove, and the fridge.
A few have even taken up swimming
in the bathtub
or driving my old Saturn.

Like Tribbles,
or Gremlins,
they multiply fast -
and require constant supervision.