drunken boat

at the end of the day -i'd be there, 

with eyes burst apart

 from insomnia, weary and young

my insides,

 like a beached shark , 

a thing washed ashore onto muggy sand

by a storm that shook oceans

but that know one will remember

i clutched the cursed poet's volumes,

against me ,as i tried to sleep 

i rocked soberly on the drunken boat

reciting their verses 

like the believer reciting his prayers 

i'd curl up in their words

and pretend to be held 

i'd pretend to hear coming from my own ears

like children pretend to hear the sea 

coming from shells that curl into themselves

'I'm here

it's alright. see. 

i'm here'