Absolute destitution brought on by the sea.
A misery and a vast childlike remembering.
The boats recede into glass houses.
It’s where stones are thrown, and then dissolve to embers.
Moss, cutlery, and the lounge of a collective ‘we’.
I see a single angel slowly thinking and dismembering
into ethereal blue limbs, and of very quiet spirits who browse
beneath machines, in caves of effortless fenders
while ghosts rise from the water to me,
bowed by weights and shafts, a lumbering
followed by the shapes of birds, rats, mouses,
all of who stark in the mirror renders
an image of my face, distraught, paranoid, and needily
subsuming beneath a mattress, shouting, now loud, now reedily.
by Col. Baldwüllz