Gloomy and dark expanse of water
Covered too brittle ships
My weary poem is a squatter
Under my skin dissected snips

And fragile thin wrist crunches
Like the first snow
My broken ribs wrapped branches
Of sadness, frustration and throe

My subconscious lulls nightmare
Stringing no beads but vertebrae
Can you feel the smell of my hair?
The smell of sea wave in a hectic bay