2016 Issue
matthew bowie
A Sailor’s Recollection of the Second Gulf War Conveyed Over Whiskey After a year at sea, moonlight has no consequence; Nothing follows but reflections in a wake, A wave, half-green and glowing; The stars start to be stars, And the salt sting stops speaking. Drinking The vision is all – all you’re left with.
He talked like this for hours, staring At his resin-oil filled glass, the crazed Twitching circuit twisting His mouth’s almost rusted screws Into a mechanical sneer at random moments, You can steal anything from the sea but silence. Nights won’t bear inscription, the horizons Beggar text, and you couldn’t write on ripples, Couldn’t ask or answer the jewels, the burning The lying dawn off to port, like a torch.
sky,
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