Writing on day 27

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The golden haired child

from the holy place

just walked right on by

You weren’t seen

the Sea is in your stomach

It’s an odd shade of grey

or green

Rough as scales

and no amount of brine will make the sickness stop

or go slow

Lead shines its face in the weight of your body and

Equanimity,

the unicorn, has bolted

Just beneath the rage that speaks to no one at all

an armoury of tears

 

 

You don’t even need to pick up a sword

Just flood the battlefield instead

But the battle is never over

Until there is blood