Oily edged liquidy sickness.
Cold fingers holding gut,
Coiling a knot and not knowing it.
Not knowing it,
Not knowing anything
Instant Education in remission
Value multiplied by time
Meaning and significance,
Laid side by side in brine…
Mottos and metaphors melt,
Into muck and the melody
The smell of fish and cold fingers
Peering into deeper water brother.
Scales peeling off, shed for good,
Drowned in the air under the floorboards,
Boat rocking and sloshing around,
gurgling choices make their sound
Meet you sometime- you name the place.
the thorn on my side is a selfish grace,
A greedy pain aimed forwards, a guilty pain aimed back,
It ain’t no race, no race, no race.
