WORK MAN SHIP
Chaelee Dalton

WORK
​
bits become

rows become

arrays become

our honeyed grave

embedded in

our lack of ability to

recall

nature gave us

everything but

music

and the water we've made of
​
our bodies

MAN

your reality

all details of muse

a city too close to

both green and gold

a two-faced

die

rolling over

not this quiet cemetery but

the chance of reaching heaven

and our longing to touch

each other

​like this

SHIP

​removed and

moved by

the sun

a revolution

today mourning

and this evening

six feet under

this land

six miles above

the sea floor

we scrape at

sacred sky