“Inventory”
She wakes, angrily
again on her raft,
compass gone missing,
lost to the sea
Oar, canteen, bag and
Ocean remaining,
Again.
Of hands,
there are 2
Of lips, 2,
Of bodies, 1,
Of thoughts
Hers;
Alone.
“Brave tears”
Last night
She cried
It had been days
Since tears burned
That she had told herself
Brave soldiers,
Brave seamen,
Brave
Did not shed.
“Beasts”
But the daemons
Remaining
Hate is amusement
For the tired
Bored
Lost
Only virtue
–a near impossible feat–
Saves
the few
From transforming
Into beasts.
