To have two eyes as sharp as your tongue
is a gift. Two whale shaped almonds on
your unbearded canvas that you used to use
to sink ships and freeze rain.

Piercing circles need to be charged
by sleep and colby-jack, not dregs
of java and illuminations of the glowing apple
that you feast on, now.

Raging oceans blue and green
have been lulled by the sticky mucus
dams of sleepy-tears that you built
with your own body while your dreams sang:

                                                          ­                                 Farther, sail, further, boy
                                                             ­                               Look not back for fear is coy
                                                             ­                               Vaster, seek, faster, man
                                                             ­                               You must, oh, must reach the planned.

Pencils and papers and screens and gin
have stilled your eyes and dried
them of all power,
                              Cyril,
In the staring glass you,           search
for an oceans depth
all you find is a hollow skull,
bone dry, running wet only with blood.