Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

February 09, 2008

On the Ferry

The salt of looking
out scrubbed dull windows,
polyurethane framed
and rusted bolt shadows,
pinning muted sounds.
Double hulls and coloured
pulleys, unnoticed dancing
porpoises. Cold. Chalky crusts
in vending machine moon pools,
the smell of vinegar on chips.
Hot coffee. Liquorice stairs
to the car decks, marbled
with oil and smoke. Panting
dogs wait in the keeling hold.
Men are folded into newspapers,
sleeping dreams of cedar.

Posted by Delire at February 9, 2008 01:00 PM
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