deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Sailor's Razor.

The boat cuts ice film on water.    
You mark time and temperature and direction,    
focused on precise structure.    
     
My feet sink,      
mind commences spinning,      
the security oozes      
from my legs,      
from my arms.    
You're focused on precise structure.    
     
Where are we? The map shifted, the sea is volatile. The plan. You're screaming?    
Rope is needed to string or tighten or pull.      
My feet feel numb,    
I try to picture home    
as hope pours      
from my legs,    
from my arms.    
You're focused on maddening danger.    
     
I try to picture home.  
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
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