From June, 2017

The Mermaid Dream

The sight of the bodies slowly descending into the darkness, the depths to the piles of those left to swim for their lives, for the lives of their children they sunk, prisoners of war become anchors, a glistening sepulcher beneath the waves  not amber, stilled trapped within,  murky and thick with crude oil, more bodies sink and twist and bend as the waves yell at the moon, “Iamb, iamb, iamb,” and they reply with silence, or I couldn’t hear between the claps of thunder and my ears were drowned in the cries of a morbid homecoming.  Rusted gadgets and fragile…