By Pavel Chichikov
The sun bent down to taste
The savor of the waste
In the shallows of the coast
Inside the lip of sea
He drank a bitter tea
The cup was nearly empty
Leavings at the bottom
The black abyss of Sodom
Were leaving-stones of heaven
The city made of salt
Drunk to its default –
Also will it be
Our city of the sea
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)