02/07/2022

Maybe closure

These cigarettes burn my throat
A small price for some prose
Lumbered down to the harbour
To get me rain and maybe closure

The mountains loom 
In the curves of the cove
Around these cardboard rooftops
Clouds drape like petticoats

There is still so much beauty
To rattle and creak for days
Sails to accompany me
Gentle beams on placid waves

Then hungry ghosts of seasons past
Clung trembling to the boughs
So I scraped and scrubbed them off 
Like baby barnacles

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