Sky Writing

By | 1 March 2015

from Apocalypse Dreams

The democracy of water: shocking
really in the stratified worlds we are losing.
But these internal compulsions of tidal ligaments
deeper, older than me
and simply unstoppable.

On the edge I consider these realities
with the likelihood I will die
and the sure knowledge that if I live
I don’t know what that will mean,
look like, be or where located.
At best: pain; an after blank.

Like the others, I give myself up
to the waters. Acquiescence
is inevitable.
We bob. Quickly, sinking a bit, swimming a little

We are happy – are we stupid?
Horseplay and banter despite
the swill of speed and the salt swallows.
[Do worse things happen at sea?]
Here is the corner. Ahead – hello Homer! –
a rocky basin swells and falls, white and blue and spray.
The very meaning of spume.
Sea contractions expose coarse corals, smash
matter to matter.
We are bloodless; shit fish.
And it is just water coming down on people.

This entry was posted in 67: A BRITISH / IRISH and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.