Where certain things are concerned
our fleeting impasse
cries for help like a drowning child
a frenzied but short lived affair
before a millpond calm returns
to cloak the drama hidden underneath.
So, as we sit peacefully
both knowing, that
corpses eventually surface
to create a far more serious maelstrom,
we hurriedly gather rocks,
not for ammunition,
for ballast,
to buy us time
to put on fine clothes
to plan a proper funeral
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