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captain spins the wheel and pilfers a puff

of the cigarette in her brittle hands

takes a lick off the spine of the salty brine



the risks of smoking are serious

to her but what happens to the fag?

an IV drip to the Black Sea

caught between the cell blocks of her rib cage


her hair drips translucent

puddles of nothing cover her feet

it matters not, her lack of introspection

she doesn't have to move to change direction

a gift as yet unopened, this voyaging maiden


the currency of calamity is the precise

antithesis of the sand dollar

to her, but what of deference?

don't be daft! bow under her stern gaze


a revolving smoke envelops her nightmares

awareness flung overboard

beneath the liquid soil

but not before walking through plankton

to a frothed and dripping rave

Comments (1)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

I like the use of the colloquialisms in this poem. I also enjoyed some of the deliberate absurdities of the imagery. Good poem.

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