Tuesday, July 16, 2013

bedtime story

roving sea gangsters
rusted with other men's blood
seaworthy with scurvy
drunken ships barely
the smell of sea hair burning
hungry still
in the eyes
in his eyes
my father telling tales
my small brother and I
nearly on the shifting deck
two of the hands aboard
whole unholy hoard conscripted
a page flips wind-whipped
a vessel for swine, horses, or less
he continues
transgressive transport
men's mouths hung
like another man's scarf
on the star-scarred
neck of the night
a forced retreat
a mere distance of pages
the nightmarish moon
maybe abandoned at sea

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