we pace our own shores,
and smother out distant lights
with our hands.
some people seek external communication,
but we’ve had our fill of
tending to feelings,
treading softly on unknown relationships.
this is an island surrounded by rock
with no lighthouse to warn
passersby who might
die
in pitching and rolling and crashing
waves. torrents of swirling black
that swallow the curious
and never spit them back.
posted by gerald on June 27, 2008 @ 11:32 pm
Perfect… ~_^
i like this one just…..,,,,,,,
i smell the mix of salt and blood….,,,,
“that swallow the curious
and never spit them back.”
bravo…..
posted by Ethan on July 16, 2008 @ 1:26 am
Beautiful.
posted by Cass on July 24, 2008 @ 3:20 pm
Justin. I have a weird request of you. Email me, foo’.