closure

over worked, tar stained fingers
emerge from thick
frayed cuffed knits
to grasp pints of poison
to turn themselves into stone.

To be washed up
with age, stories
and empty pockets

the pieces of their letters
were torn and thrown
to pirouette
in a danse macabre
in the North Sea wind.

Words now lost to sea:
closure
redundant
immediately

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