Ghostly scars searching; murky and lively waters provide a forceful and ill advised navigable pull of a wave. The seas play tug-of-war with me and this rueful rolling mix of waves, as ill-tempered breezes under a sailor’s dead moon illuminates in silence the cold ships that are still afloat on bludgeoning white caps of yesteryear.

This old pirate moon hangs freely while singing ‘bout our lord, and death –shapeless now and not conforming, it sails in the black beauty of space-time reaching out with its waspishly fingers attempting to eat a foray of phantom ships in the blackish night.

Churning old waves, it stirs the gulls in flight, which are quietly viewed from the mast of those ghost ships that once plied the seas, searching still, and seeking those turbulent clouds that resemble an old sailor in the dizzying stillness among liquid moonbeams and their razor-like glow;

“Oh, the shark,
Babe, she has such teeth, dear / and it shows
                             Those pearly whites”…

Your whispered messages are a potent voice.
And every splash sounds like applause among the jagged rocks along my imagination’s coastline...
How deathly afraid was i now of your hurtful waves?
Flowing outward with an undulating motion, a forceful agitation-
Revealing my reflection, now anchored to this mournful nightlight,
                  
                  Illuminating the "uh-oh's" swimming across
my cold sailor’s
trembling mouth-


by "ooznozz"