Max Czollek - off the coast of laconia

i saw an orthodox priest
with sunglasses
out-poker-faced by waves

the closed eyes of the cliffs
a game of dice

shadows stretching out like pathos

saw light dangle
in the mountains’ hawker tray
gilded with copper

the village impregnable
the most bled-dry prospects i’ve ever

no one could tell me who was ahead

i sat on an ace of hearts
weighing myself down with olive pits

that’s how hard the wind blew