Tuesday 14th December 2010, A. Palmer
The blood rushed the walls of crevices and crooks
in the kitchen tiles,
nestling in the grains like crimson rock pools.
Draining from your face at a rapid rate, your looks-
usually all flushes and smiles-
began to resemble more those of a man the ocean rules:
silent still, with lips cracking like a row of tiny skulls
and blue. Oh so blue,
I chilled upon seeing the shade life leaves behind.
Your hands gripped the night in helplessness, and your moored hull
caused a fear that grew
among those frozen nearby like the lake that lined
your shell- just how long would you be driftwood for?
Suddenly, sound pierced again,
and waves of screaming oared me into smoother thinking.
Throwing your tongue overboard washed your lungs ashore
though you shall never quite know how close you came to sinking.
and allowed sense to be regained,