Head alone lifted up in air
Held by hair
Ragged strings ready to break

Head alone to witness:
Freed of those limbs rather unnecessary
For the tortured soul, the wretched heart.

Words –empty! Blood is what counts
Blood mingled with sea foam
Formless and unwelcoming.

A red slash wounds the horizon
Reminiscent of the one about his neck.
Eyes dull, now face the view

The rest of him is already sinking.
Sea-salt burns fresh wounds
It is not bad: Hurt heals

Black waves crush the broken corpse
The sea-weed bed offers no warmth

24 April 2009