Day 98 of 100 Poems/100 Days

Latitude

Those men,
like barnacles on the ship,
to break the hull.

The slow driver,
steering us far and wide,
one vessel knocks against another.

“Lost voice for lost thoughts”, she says
“you must abandon me”,
as the rocks get closer.

She tries to set sail faster
but I set fire to her hull,
because she called me a liar,
because she doubted my anger,
and so I skin the rabbit like a lion,
to feed us and keep us steering.

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