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Catherine Allen

Seattle

It feels like I am sailing away from a
Concrete monster
On a particularly rickety boat,
Above particularly friged waters
Where reflections of lights are blurred
By razor blade waves
That fold me inside
Notebook paper.

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The Sentenced

And now I leave my mask outside
The door.
Some sick joke, Your
Horror film sense of humor,
And that is what I love about you.
That slit-my-wrist kind of love
That leaves me broken and hopeful
When the smoggy sky turns dark at the
End of everyday.
It's made me come to the conclusion that
You are the rope, and I am the
Sentenced.

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