Our wooden frame crawls on tendrils
Weeds soaked in seawater soaked in city muck
Grit shuffles into water, disturbed by our passing,
The canal boat slinks on wooden planks and pedestals,
Wicked bears a traditional name

Ice breakers and thought takers,
Our narrow hull rests on its corals
Shuffled into dock
By the bay leaves, short and smooth,
Which flinch and blanche
Feeling their way apart from us
As our engine leaks

No indeed, our boat is shaped like tree trunks,
Lashed together with fickle plastic rope
That bleeds earthly vitamins from the bowels of exploited grass seed
And stewed history, burnt alive within

What I feel is comfort,
But I know the fish below me
Are choking, feeding on
What arsenic they can reach to
Escape the slick of molten carelessness
As we imitate the seabirds that
Come in to roost
And hurt nothing.

I don't think
We managed more than damage,
But HELL


I had fun doing it,
As long as tomorrow comes,
Ours is fine

?