This imagined ocean floods my rowboat in throbs
pounding up through a hole I can't locate
to the screeching rhythm of gulls enjoying my misery.
My hundred-year-old rowboat, beat to hell
...
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Interesting imaginative piece daring to claim everything is just the effect its material has upon the state of your mind.
Thank you, Julia! This wasn't the direction I intended to take the poem, but it seemed to want to direct itself, as poems often do. - Jenny
I am not a native English speaker, I really learn. thanks for sharing this piece.
So happy you enjoyed it, Hassan! - -Jenny