1612: On the Pier

Can you rouse your future
without looking at your palms?

Whilst they are pressed together
will you forget your past?

Each space between each timber
appears much tighter now

as if my clenched memory
has squeezed a recall held

She sells to opened hands
once her’s has weighed your coin –

palmistry is a sideshow
positioned to profit a void

I watch you squint in daylight
and take those four steps down

I watch those gaps expand again
as if they wish you drowned

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