• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 09
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Song to Reach the End of the World

The sea runs rare, oracles
lap in the milky foam their
ohms and proclamations
are formed from, somewhere
rocky there is life, a father
listening for a mother. The dead
wash upon your beach, let’s be clear,
I’ve always imagined some apocalypse,
long fingers wrap around my childhood’s
neck and I speak in tongues as the clouds
gather the average of the world’s tears.