Michael C. Petersen
On the margin in a hand, the second
owned and operated vessel, a woman perhaps
man wilt thou and the ship in which all
Mankind sails is landed safe is risen again
and again
safe on your port
to no one in particular. Because
sweetheart. What probably moves, removes me
from where you are insistent tern
in the sea-vein, rides
that ephemera
desire, or how we're wound
with it, wasting grounds, mainline & gangion,
draggle of the trap behind the having of anything
and then trawled
the hated version of oneself lashed to the preferred.
Lineage. Capitulation of what you have.
Mankind wilt thou risk
mankind can thou rise.