The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

March 15, 2007

"Where the waters meet at the end of the world"

Where the waters meet at the end of the world
bodies merge in streams; arms and legs unfurled
in death or signifiers streamed and long forgotten.
There is no kelp among the drowned, no seed rotten
and uncalled for. When my friends swim, they die
allegiance emptied of their final cry
when all is drowned and doomed. Waters shear waters,
some sign, untoward, approaches, slaughters
our pretty young women and buoyant young men.
Sightless, nothing goes further then.
Witless, nothing goes further then.

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