sext
the story goes
that when they spied the kraken’s head
sailors set off home-made flares
for the fleet on the horizon
legend has it
that when he had abandoned ship
and the captain washed up far from home
he lit beacons every night
for the shadows of passing ships
coffee, sandwich
a buzz in your pocket
I light my match
my last pinch of dry powder
I watch the waves for a sign
trepanning
archaeologists learn more from middens than
from monuments
more from scattered pits and shattered clay
than gold and marble
the worn teeth and the mended skull
tell a tender story of their own
you and I won’t recoil
from the sliding trash-heap we’ve made here together
our record runs bone deep
Katy Naylor lives by the sea, on the south coast of England. She makes games and writes in the time that falls between the cracks.
RESURRECTION mag 