S.O.S.

S.O.S.

One ordinary day
After rough and tumble torrents
Of uncontrollable
Tsunami pourings

A glass bottle floated on by
Above submarines kiting on high
In the sea of voices shouting
Old oxygen’s soft carapaces

To be corked with pressure
By instinct and stifled
Only then written an S O S
Waiting out all who pass rest

Not the message inside
Red ink inscribed
In an old bottle of coffee soda
Smelling script by old loads of

Promises seen by the sea
Of dreamscapes and nightmares
Slinking along in the waves
To be picked up sating craves

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