from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (26)
yet I suppose it could be worse
the tidal pull and push
leaves me stranded
among the dune’s desolation
or drowning beneath the wave’s
so I take my meds
for ten years each morning
without fail I perform my Eucharist
without wine or blood or flesh
just chemicals I’m told will save me
from the rising tide
(February 12, 2020)
Reblogged this on .
Thanks. I appreciate the comment.
I am moved too far by this. A truly excellent poem I wish no-one had to write.