I’m going to the ocean,
it’s not a holiday,
but an end to the corrosion.
The sun below the horizon,
the doors closed and locked,
the phone off the ringer,
only the waves piling on,
a siphon to the bottle
that is me upon the shore.
Fiction over reality.
I’m going to the ocean,
it’s not a holiday,
but an end to the corrosion.
The sun below the horizon,
the doors closed and locked,
the phone off the ringer,
only the waves piling on,
a siphon to the bottle
that is me upon the shore.