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Sep 2013
Rolling of a broiling and boiled red sea
swift sticky sick twisted greenery
netting licking at our heels
at pillars of strength O' mighty Achilles
pulling for bronzed treasure
but the marble temple stands
and our idols fall crafting a crown of sin
but who is the idol of the sea?

The compass
the stars
the moon

The sailor prays to his Women
the captain for his Men

Heaving and **'ing
of storms brewing since long before the Men knew the Women and the captain knew his god
How heaven unloads a thunderous sigh
belching a quelling force

Sheets shape figures in the dark
tip louder, louder, darker, darker
colder than wet
clutch yourselves close because you're all that's left
open your eyes and see
the real god

You are not a Man
there is no Woman
You are flotsam
I am eternal.
Written by
Steven Fried
  962
   Rob Rutledge
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