I could return you to smoking pyre
Like the y that replaced the i
i found you swearing at the water
in it’s primary context obsession
Was a reused liberty not far behind.
dwelling on a night away playing computer
games on the flat packed dockyard ships
I wrote the wreck that is a life.
Arachnids suits the pulmonary vessels
It needs dragged from dockyards shadows
the circles of floating children’s borrowed
Winged shoes of the Victorian pasted paper
waiting to be hung the cracked glass of
Spent Ammo expression floodlighting.