Sea’s Sleep

The wake tumble-up through sleeper’s thin lips,
spreading seafloor manacles crossed
over unseen chemicals run dark by sun’s leeching,
an ever-alterable tempest dream conceived.

Who fights foam, grained gravelbar biting,
repetitious yawn & close.

Look,
there the friction-speak of dawn grinds eventual,
dozing earth lifts one mortar-white tendon
over carbon glaze, angering the calm pulse
of ocean to a meaty, spinning boil,
of man’s deep illness eternal brought
shallow & quick.

The rage lasts the fall of night,
a precious sour waste left felt
only by crags & rock, the veil below,
in deeper conscious, unmoving.

 

About Jack Galbraith

Jack is tied to MATC first-timer Ali and thinks poetry is neat. If you’d like, find more at galbraithjack.com.

Jack Galbraith

Jack is tied to MATC first-timer Ali and thinks poetry is neat. If you’d like, find more at galbraithjack.com.

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