poetry & things

Net fishing

When I can no longer dredge, move water

dragging silt through sand, disappearing

my hands tied by seaweed, clawed and crabbed

strange ocean of paraphernalia, I trudge the land

my lips, red crusts and salty bled

fingers stiff, rusty locks, rubber gloved

swallowed up, fastening round a net, a trap

to pull the ocean in

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