I’d like to put myself in
a green glass Coca-Cola
bottle, sew the lid shut with
fishing line, float
out into the salty Atlantic
Ocean. Continents have never
fulfilled my table of
contents and
maybe somewhere, lost
in the ash and blackness
at the bottom of the
Dead Sea,
I’ll final realize that
the only message in a bottle
to find is me.
And the stars
will fall from the sky
that night,
and the fishing line will
break,
and I will burst forth, breathing,
at last.


Posted on March 15th at 10:51 PM
Tagged as: poetry. spilled ink. creative writing. poem. writing. rejectscorner. things. meep.
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