sweet

∴ drunk on the waves, gasping at the page
my pen, a ravenous shark eating its own fins—
lost in a paddle-less dingy of thoughts
my phrases flopping like fish hopped up on
sea-wrath-brew

anchor away, left indents—
the stanzas squirmed loose as
a spilled a bucket of eels into
tide-pitted pools of froth

then, outside of a gull-stained port pub
the lady with the crooked typewriter grin
spun a yarn that sounded like amber breezes
flowing warm from dream-worn shores
i bought those flotsam—jetsam bits
chewed on them, but they stained my lips
sickly sweet and dripping ink

no pen worth its jib was worded well enough
to take the con of this paper
which mocked me with salty curses
then holding its breath, waiting for yours truly to
splash
o
v
e
r
r
rrrrrr
the bow
∴