No canvas sails
no breeze on your face
you feel the pressure of carbon dioxide
moving across your body
an unseen masseur
wrenching
at a bespoke suit.
The wind is your enemy
a firing squad with no blanks
a poison gas that rips soil
into missile clouds, bullets
at Beaufort Ten.
The tide is out
and the world billows
with red, waiting
to take your breath.
Second verse full of inanimate hostility – great. Also like ‘the world billows with red’. Well I especially like the use of the word billows.
Yes, stanzas 2 & 3 especially strong. I wonder if omitting ‘you feel the pressure of’ in St 1 would give the same feeling of, as Chris says, hostility.