Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Pelagic Descent

How foul the yowl
Of the wind
Clout cuffing the edge
Mink slink breeze
Shiver thin-skinned
Turned to gale
Zephyr grinned

Craft lilting, tilting
Awake, eyes closed
Bow reaching
Figure Head exposed
Timber eyes stilted
Forever posed
Tear crying face
White horse imposed

Envisage linen floating over berth
Shaken to rest into place
Cushion cradle your head
In trance of cotton grace
Dream swathe the mind
Thoughts silkily effaced
Dim moonlight
Over pillowcase

Clash din wood splintering
Strike into now
This vessel diminished
To be disavowed
Plunging stern choke back the brine
Compensate for selfish prow
It is humbling in the deep
No ignominy in the avow

How foul the yowl
As the comber rolls
Dragging the keel down
To under-sea shoals
Relish this last conclusion
Relinquish the control
What tranquility that herefore comes
With manumit of this immortal soul

No more
This corporeal shoal