torn labels

 names on th shor 
they waves
erase

if she was afraid and aged
in an oak cask
until morning ;
she woke on th sea
by a city
and surrounded was my    body
that waited for some          body

hear th young girl’s cry
     drum
     wonder
who is in th lighthouse
and drinking th channel beside her
away
which has never been enough either/
or

     hell hell hell hell hall hell
     is where th tips of her soul
     dip and row

and you           memorabilia
                        a ship in a ditch

walking slowly on
th same wave as th night before

     cup of coffee goes down like a snowflake

buried as if
in a cold seaside motel –
where we’d go th night before

no matter
there is no ponder
     and I wonder if she dreams
     don’t drown
     or has fallen back asleep
     or just stares                         at arguments
                                                  about time
                                                  come so often 

# posted by hardyf : 09:51