October 3, 2010 at 9:29 pm (Bodies, Sea, The Real) (, , )

His skin clung to his skull
like wax, clutching the earth,
as the ink curled into whispers
and grand paper ideas.
The electric light lay dormant,
for drama’s sake, and his eyelids
guttered with the candle.

Dancers flicker behind his eyes.
the women wear snakeskin slippers,
and the men nothing.
They drink with hot, red mouths
from an unnameable, monstrous tankard,
but his lips forget how to sip.

He awoke, as always,
with his back to the cold,
Rough rock,
With sea salt in his eyes.


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