So where is the captain of this half-eaten ship?
The great envy that swallowed all those down
Below contempt with a few frail men being left,
He knew all along that I didn't build it to last.
What hate could have driven him from bread to the
Bone that holds up the flesh of weak dreams and
Trembling knees of men who couldn't have lived on their own?
But if it tastes good, I guess I too would indulge.
The most terrifying thing is that it won't even sink.
The sea is a dry stew made of artichoke hearts
And the liquid that drips from a life that's too ripe,
Or not ripe enough, it's just too late to tell.
Whoever gave the order to unfurl the sails
Was either below deck or was already dead
From eating a compass the size of his neck and
The whole crew went blind the minute we left.
So the only way he could have walked to the shore
Was on the backs of those floating there, barely alive.
And if I could gather my strength and rise from my knees,
I would follow that shadow out into the deep.
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