|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
We have left our sepulture bedroom,
hidden under eaves and over the sea
as the equinox wanders slowly south.
Now we are bound to our bodies
as we are bound across cities.
We are cruising across states, our
minds drifting through the continents,
all our windows painted shut
against the first crack of hoarfrost.
Still we mourn our longest days:
how we drank whiskey and seawater,
how we fed oysters to the cats,
how we cracked open every claw
to suck out the meat,
how we promised we will
never swim in the same ocean again.
About Abigail Bautista