From inside

the sky’s warm

open throat,
the leather flask

full with biting

darkness
rips

and dusk

is poured

over
the crest

of the naked

waves
as they scatter

my mind

and the horizon
in glass shards

—on the tongue.
And I reach

out and scratch

off peels of peach,
rust

& rhum.
They won’t stay,

they won’t stay

I know.
&

in the horizon
scatters

my mind

down the sky’s

warm
open throat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
_____________

Photo: Tom GRAINGER ~ https://www.instagram.com/tomgraingermarseille/