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Spaghetti knots

rumi

an ocean sunk

in the middle

where you left

a deep blue that one could

slip maddeningly in love with

plump there where

no one knew how to swim

in a condo with a door too small

and a bed too empty

on the fifteenth floor

of a city that sees its shore receding daily

and its waters dirtying with people

who have eyes that match the pool of you

staring at the ceiling stained

from those angels throwing up above

and into the modern clouds

that rain cannons against the tedium

of a life unknown

a life as important as the waters

that held the first one

a life that whispers to look

beyond to the last

where the apocalypse will watch

with sadness it can tell no one

as a missing man builds a ship

with the wreckage from years of wreckage

sails of worn summer dresses

a mast of used lipstick containers

a rope of brushed away hair

to try to get across to whatever land

that isn’t this one

with its cut tongues

and bodies floating in the open

 

they moan

to those who will listen

that they were working on drowning

but the water

was heavier

than they expected

when they started

to expect

 

and soon

this is true

for after the ocean is baked by the sun

and the salt is licked by the surviving animals

and the few fish evolve onward

to full time jobs and baseball games and suicide

i have only a room

full of a room

that isn’t worth much

with all

the wear on the walls

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About kacperniburski

I am searching for something in between the letters.

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