Saturday, July 20, 2013

The long row to shore

I row to shore
My oars making
My palms sore
Beaten up
By the waves’ ruckus
The boat defies me
While inside
I’m chained
To the bench
I’m sitting on,
So I must row
Or rote
A dark dot
On a blue
Blazing water top
Under a red
Blazing sun
I can’t even
Run my blistered fingers
To wipe the sweat
Off my blistered brow,
Chains yanking down
My hands each time
I try
I can barely lick the lip
When the drip sticks
And I wonder
In this sunny blindness
If it is really sweat
I taste
Or blood
And if in the scheme
Of things
Is there

A difference?

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