Poem-A-Day #246 : &

I have always found myself a bit obsessed with the Titanic. I've always found myself a bit obsessed with mass erasure in all forms. The idea that the dirt we walk on is sometimes the left over remains of those who came before. The glass we drink from is sad that was shell that was living somewhere at sea. That we can ressurrect them simply by noticing the origins... These things. Obsess me.


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a line of sand is a valley a broken slope a sort of falling apart - it is Hadrian's Wall a floor in a tower that is crumbling the gently worn stairs into the dungeon

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a line of sand is where the water ends up - the sound of tearing fabric - it is the breaking of waves across the bow of a sunken ship

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someone said that Titanic sinking was faked that it was for insurance that the nameplates had been swapped with the Olympia and that the whole thing went south and people died

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someone else said that there is a cruise ship called the Millennium that has wood panels from the Olympic in one of its restaurants

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a line of sand is also a scar a memory a thing that occurred and could occur again but not in this exact way

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could you imagine eating in the ghost of the Titanic - walk to the fireplace in the White Swan Hotel in Alnwick and light a damn fire

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the pieces of glass recovered from the floor of the Atlantic are revelations of death

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a line of sand is a finger through remnants of bone