Wednesday, October 19, 2022

cf. Petrarch, Rima Sparse 189



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.

Damn this ship! Fuck all ‘god’ and ‘speed’!






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