Poetry

Point Nemo

Kyle Walton,
2019-2020,

Point Nemo has no sun.
Without it, we cannot set a course.
Calm waves slowly caress our ship, luring us closer.
The air’s turning cold, the sun must be setting, we’ll head out at dawn.

Late November

Kyle Walton,
2019-2020,

Late-November, windows down,
Parkway lights dashing, caddy cornered to the void
At bay by these windows, older make and model than myself but still holding.
Drumming mechanicals reverberate through the cloth seating
like the rhythmic cacophony of cultists.