(Untitled)

[luma091]

a barnacle encrusted anchor sits
tons of pressure heavy atop it
at the dense, dark bottom of the ocean.

rusty, and once strong
the chain
links
my ankle to

familiarity, security.
my heel bubbles with
yellow calluses.

the tips of my fingers
smooth and manicured
tingle with restlessness

stretching for
.

Comments

[tamreh]

stretching?
gazing. . .

tons of pressure atop it
at the dense, dark bottom

sounds like a nice place to be

[luma091]

stretching for... i wanted to write 'the unknown,' but that's too obvious for such an ambiguous concept. so i decided to keep with the whole desire as absence and leave an absent empty space to represent it instead.
no poem is ever finished!

a nice place? perhaps. depends on where you're coming from.

[tamreh]

ah yes no poem is every finished. just adding my two cents to the situation just suggesting gazing.
and by nice place, i was being sarcastic. encrusted barnacles and yellow calluses gave me the impression it isn't.

[luma091]

ha totally over my head. have you googled calluses? that shit is gross.