Rich Murphy

Declaration of Demarcation

We take our stands upon our islands
of unrevivable leather insoles.

Connection has been left rotted
beneath swelling and crestfallen
senses of desertion and pride.

Distance rules the tyrants and lover
just more than an arm's length.

The horizon plots its tall
independent masts and full sails
but without coming attractions.

At ebb tide, each of us inhales the deep
salt and spume of no relationship.

When water's edge is high, we retreat
separately through our suburbs
and fill bird baths with our eyes.

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