Photography by David Catart

IV. Death By Water

the tide, the tide, the tide

coming in like the moon

the ebb, wavering above the dark is living

feasting upon the heart, skulking in the cars


I think you’ve borrowed me for awhile

found me drifting on an earthen raft

found me crumpled and abandoned

you are Wilson from castaway

white, red, and beautiful

I thought we could be a love poem, so I wrote you five

curled next to you and kissed the salt from your face in bed

the tide,

it is the feeling of the inevitable:

I will get on the plane

I will be drowning,

gasping, sinking

all the hours to Paris

& still

thinking of you.





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