MY BARGE is large but I forget
what people, items squat in cargo hull.
The brains are inaccessible, the skull
is poorly pitched against the salt and wet.
There are oars, and sails on sails, and yet
sans oranges, the
crew is dull.
Drums, and the requisite seagull,
anchor them in music of regret.
The whole assembly’s now in danger:
cords creak, timbers bend, joints leak.
Weird hindrances. Signs impossible to read.
No captain I am to all stars a stranger.
The whole ship now begins to gibber and squeak.
