Sea Takes The Ship, The - Poem by s./j. goldner
What they want are more gravestones to topple,
frost to whet their blighted voices.
- Bill Rasmovicz, from 'Crows'
She's careful never to overstay her welcome.
When she leaves, she leaves quietly in the night
while the fog is settling around the city scrapers.
The smooth stank of the city is beguiling.
As gray glistened air creeps out of sidewalk
vents, almost alive. Definitely not dead.
Packing up her things, sick of his boldface lies.
His bullsh*t is too heavy to carry. She leaves it behind.
One cannot see the stars, until they hit the suburbs
where her eyes become transfixed.
The moon, obscured by clouds. We spend our lives
trying to conceal: the look of being lost.
Plucking hope—like pulling teeth—out of the bleakest confines,
corners, of dead-end streets. The night a vacuum,
like a thousand piercings. Tattooed and eternal.
There's always something from which to hide. She's ever so
tired. Crying rape because it's more effective than crying wolf;
The verge of acquiescence. The cliff of defiance.
It's real: the fury. Like the absence and breakdown of
chlorophyll in autumn leaves. The anger comes in spurts,
and spits out like growth. Truth is ever only partially told, at best.
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