Microbookends – Under / Taker

under the Thames I slip
wagering my soul
for lungfuls of salt ink
to etch the fabric of the water
into my bones
asking in return
for nothing more
than an end to sorrow
safe passage to the source
to be held as a lullaby
in a gentle ebb and flow
but there is no slow falling asleep
in a comforting tidal shadow
thoughts are exchanged for panicked fire
my body whelves like an eel
and regret pulls me down
as my eyes roll up into permanence
another thermal fax, ghost written
for the odds were uninteresting
and The Old Man of the River
is always the taker

Microbookends – Under / Taker

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