Matthew Roskowski

Plum Sea

        a twine sweater
        covers your throat,
        chest;

alas!
face pacific pale,
eyes blue,
/’look my way’
but to no avail(
insides filled plum,
mind dead and
dumb-sylvia swears/
ships sails stitched with
moon & glum,
along the coast,
the sea, the
shore & holy ghost/
no sentiment to
plunder, anchored in
the belgium sea)
appetites peckish,
stomachs stuffed with
salt & gull, trafficking the
steam of the sea for the
lightening to chase &
steep/sylvia swears in her
sleep)

        the morning blue swells around
        me.