AHOY

Image throttled in the subconscious,

romantic throwback--

the mind on a voyage round land's end

to eclipse pyramidal fires

set as beacons along rock strewn shores--

her skeletal inhabitants on ice flows

wrapped in bearskins

with dirks between their teeth

slapping one another to keep warm.

Then, alpine ranges carrying

the plight of the Andes in their mouth;

a dull, white sail propped against ship's bow

with a noise like an anvil

coming loose in the brain.

More frightening, sailors mutiny on a diet

of bread as sallow maggots

march in a quarter horse sized trot

across the floorboards.

Such men in the bellows of one's mind

break out rubber dinghies

in quickening escape thru the

maw of an Arctic sea.

Expiry. Dry rot. Sunken astrolobe

and an armada of feelings drifting alone.

Coming to Grips with White Knuckles · 第 13 / 41 题