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Jonathan Witte
Poems
Oct 2018
Solo Voyage
Evening docks
like a desolate ship,
indigo and monolithic,
its umbral sails
swelling above
the distant hips of
a titanic continent.
Sleep tastes like a mossy anchor;
it lurches, shifts, and slips into gearβ
the sound of stars grinding on stars.
I sail across an ocean of teeth.
I acquiesce. I drown
in the velvet
whirlpool of
your absence.
Written by
Jonathan Witte
East of Georgia Avenue
(East of Georgia Avenue)
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