Welcome to the Writer's Place: The Alluvium Bed

How my dungeoness click is sourly clawed—
this flood has flushed the strands from my irises.
Tide water is this rank mood, destructive,
dike-eating water with my home beneath it now.

My greater meaning must be interruption.
Is this true?
I am interrupted by water, groping
my walls and floor to a heaving collapse.
I disturb a young home
when my own is breached by this flood,
I am cut off by circumvention and
stature, by district and pivotous rates.
I burst in on a letter with my flood images,
and send it on to the Adjustor.
And even at the start of my relaxation,
when I am a lozenge between my new warm hosts,
I am interrupted in the telephone way,
by the Adjustor and her people,
having received my letters.

“Will I get your help?” I ask.
The phone sputters and breaks into droplets.
I learn my greater meaning must be misfortune,
wet from the heels to the shins.

Ray Succre (raysuccre@hotmail.com)

Sent on 11th January, 2008

More poems by Ray Succre:

About the Author:

Ray Succre currently lives on the southern Oregon coast with his wife and baby son. He has been published in Aesthetica, Coconut, and Pank, as well as in numerous others across as many countries. He tries hard.

For inquiry, publication history, and information, visit me online: http://raysuccre.blogspot.com

www.polseguera.com - © Polseguera. All rights reserved