Oil and water
A drop in the ocean
Always far from the fry pans
Far from the fish fries and fast breaking bratwurst
The hot oil sputters
It burns my skin like a brand
echoing through me
as underlined letters write out lives I have not lived
Rotting in that old country home
smeared with spittle and phlegm
It festers still, an island in a sea of stars
waiting to break and drift away
Raucous childlike laughter flies
the gavel falls to meet my flesh
tagging me as their ‘it’
opening another crack in the dam
where thoughts swim as alien as this diseased town
And like prometheus on the rocks
clutching liver to palm, waiting to not be so far
Far from the island that dreams of the lamb
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