18 February 2011


Rigger 2/18

The body is the vessel
He is taking the cotton to the temple
Swabbing at the blood
The eyelid is sealed with black tar
Something fractured
Scratches across the skin break and draw
Everything is a ship metaphor
Here we are at sea in storm
The sails are tearing
You want your mother more and more
And more
See there were these boys
And a dark road
And fists and bending metal and blood
There was sobbing into the cold
Pounding fists on pavement
So much upheaval
Terror and waste
Flush it overboard into the gutter
With the guts and shit
Move onward towards a horizon
We are always expected to move
Onwards to a new horizon
He is swabbing at the temple
There is a sick light
The sound of a woman screaming
An orderly cracks a joke about dying
The bed has bars on it
A police officer chews a wooden toothpick
And plays a game on his cell phone

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