My flagon of Ganymede, a frothy pontoon
Of ephemerals, flanking the dry-docked galleon
Of my youth. At once, prodigious and minute.
Like a fob on a club. Run aground and marooned.
Like a bald spot on stilts.
The Sea has resigned. And all Sirens departed…
Save a nameless nymph etching her song
Into the marrow of a length of bone -
Shaped like an orphaned
Hammer.
A scrimshaw calliope of petroglyphs
As garrulous as a Cauliflower
On a bed of velvet
As black
As an unborn
Sun.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
My flagon of Ganymede, a frothy pontoon
Of ephemerals, flanking the dry-docked galleon
Of my youth. At once, prodigious and minute.
Like a fob on a club. Run aground and marooned.
Like a bald spot on stilts.
The Sea has resigned. And all Sirens departed…
Save a nameless nymph etching her song
Into the marrow of a length of bone -
Shaped like an orphaned
Hammer.
A scrimshaw calliope of petroglyphs
As garrulous as a Cauliflower
On a bed of velvet
As black
As an unborn
Sun.
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