Danpicby Daniel Jones06 Nov 2013

Across from me there bent
two dull, cockerel men
dozing, blinking loudly
as they squawk at weathered hens.

As the German galley moors
we find money on the floor
soft waves feather the rocks
we'll throw our sheaths upon the floor.

Through caustic yellow fog
a field of raptured dogs
bark their confessions blithely
at the absence of a God.

Still, I don't feel at home
despite the time alone
stomping beneath my feet
the tidied ash of lover's bones.

So I'll try to force some truth
into the lies we use as proof
gold memories we'll claim
were simple follies of our youth.