The Leftover Pieces

We called our vessel the  

David Robert Jones.

A time of travelling,

esoteric and distanced from others.

Bodies without borders,

boundaries blurred by betrothal.

You told me a mariner’s tale

of two and their tangible, yet,

futile future.

Life based on oblique sailing strategies

and the fear of seeing a mermaid.

Folklore guiding a doomed ship

close enough to land,

but far enough away to never see it again.

And somewhere, 

out there,

a relationship of jetsam

and leftover pieces.









© swissterrace 2023
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I felt like flotsam for most of my younger life. Good write.


Nice use of alliteration in this piece. There’s also a sense of foreboding that makes it appealing and I really enjoyed the final line.


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