Paul Archer - photo Paul Archer - poet, translator



The Far Reaches

Her flesh had shrunk
from the spars
of her shipwreck
and on her thin,
hacked, crusty
barnacled wrists
drips of fresh blood
were so enormous
they drew sleek sharks
racing through
the grotesque
asylum of the sea

sliding off the edge
of even the most
modern of maps
to where dragons
and sea-monsters
have always been,
your Muse
was there before you,
driven by the currents
in her electric brain
beyond all the places
that are named
out into the far reaches

do you dare to go there?
go on go on go now
be naked under your skin
feed on your nerves
and with your heart’s
drum rolling let loose
the frantically mauling
caterwauling truth

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