“FOR THE COMBERS”

I fought the current
long enough to know
I would have made it to shore
if it hadn't already washed under
the muddy water.

All rivers become oceans
if you wait too long.
And swimmers become
floaters become sinkers
become loam.

Run with the rushing.
Float with the flow.
Be washed up
with the garbage.
Be washed up
with the pearls.
Be washed up
for the combers
to decide
where you belong.

narrative poem written on 12-08-2016 by: on mattkane.com
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