Sunday, June 22, 2014


The ports know no recluse,
They are not a release of a thought
or an emotion
They just release the ships in the face of the unknown
 But bellow the surface
It is all black,
It is all blue
And then it is all so lit up
In metallic rods, bellow the skin
The metallic rods is what saves the soul
The rods consume the body
For how can a fish rely on its captivator
for light, for air
When it drowned itself?

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