Image by Ann Douglas via Flickr

I live in a world of half-formed things –
half-words, half-thoughts, half moons
digging into my calloused palms.

I’m full to the brim with glasses half empty
words that I toss back in my gut
to plumb the empty depths.

I see light filter in past a curtain of fish
the tub is clogged half full to my calves
I shake as I wash off the soap skin.

My lips taste like salt.

© christine DINGLEY 2011


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3 thoughts on “albatross

  1. Ahh, you can write. The last line, My lips taste of salt, is caustic in light of all your halfs. The only problem is that this poem is a whole, and though it is like salt, is also like a full moon on a cold night shining silver onto a lake dark with waves.

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