not really sure an anchor's still an anchor when it's a kite upside- down

...southerlies in full billows and dives lull me to the deck as bedtime waits for the residue of caffeine to wear off and the beer to begin...poems allow me, a way back in, just the way words sometimes breathe together by accident, allow me to dive past the incalculable surface tension of what ails me...the simple fates of choices made late because immaturity always smiles with me greatly through every morning in the heavy guard of my soft throne, even in this laconic unfurling of time emitting lazy memories with slow smiles inside the low rumblea of distant thunder, this Spring day where the clouds spill milk loudly at midnight's crossing ...I can still sometimes hide too well where my laughter goes to sleep...