The blind man stands on the bulkhead feels the tide through the timbers a vibration in his balls and the balls of his feet drunk on the scent of creosote the rampant fertility of the ocean
he’s been told the ocean is big a roofless cavern shifting dancefloor all he knows is that it communicates arrhythmically with mist and judder punctuates itself like a child
his skin is beginning to burn a tightness on his arms the backs of his hands blotched with salt speckles and eczema heat building for which he has no answer there’s no desire to fall forward
the water sounds like a slurping maw sucking its teeth for every dead morsel – he doesn’t want to see cares nothing for the mystery of fish of icebergs of leaping whales stands in defiance a snack unavailable
a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
Confessional truth is not my aggressive ego, it is my fault. The resolution of my conflicts with time, the smell of the broken limbs, my head in hoisted fever, my eyes searching for a cloud. The ultimate otherness, of an
couples run naked then plunge into the vast sea laughter ensues… through the duration of the night a flock of birds with intense sounds In the distance the still silence then an old man appears gets into his boat and
loner in the desert incapable of enjoying the stars knight of no man’s land cannot stand on his own desperate for a touch ‘pathetic’, they shout and wonder how he lost his mind love only made him weaker as life