21)
by Stephen Emmerson
If I lose my temper I may never find it.
It will melt into another person. A person
drowned in seaweed and oil. A person
without a home.
I could sleep on a washing line, or on a
rope in the sea. The beach is my doss
house, the city a memory. The sky peels
away, as though dry emulsion flaking
from distemper.
There is nothing there to replace the
clouds but the sound of a shell held to your
ear. The ocean inside us is red. Our veins are
full of starfish and plastic.
The doors in your house are open. The
doors in my house are closed. You prefer
landscapes, I prefer portraits. There is
really no difference between us.
ABOUT STEPHEN
Stephen Emmerson is the author of Comfortable Knives (KFS), Family Portraits, and Poetry Wholes (If P Then Q), The Journal of Baal (Veer), and Invisible Poems (Zim Zalla). More information can be found here: